


Tough Love

by susiephalange



Series: It's A Hunter's Life [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Chuck is God, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Hell, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Plot Twists, Pregnancy, Prophetic Dreams, The Author Regrets Everything, Torture, Vintage Cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 22,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as a Hunter should be easy: find a case, eliminate the unnatural problem and move onto the next one. But after you, the reader, happen to cross paths with the Winchester brothers, with Dean catching your eye, it seems that nothing could be the same as it had ever been before, ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cup Of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2014, when I first joined Wattpad. Let me tell you right now, it's based around the early Supernatural (Seasons 2 to around 5) and I was a really awful writer back then (but people like it?) Anyways. I hope you don't judge too bad.

You didn't mind bikers. Or Kombi van driving hippies. Or backpackers hitchhiking their way over the states. None of those travellers gave you a second glance, neither did you. But what did bother you was the stereotypical handsome hotshots. The guys too old to be living in their parent's houses, too young to have started a family of their own by now.   
They gave you a cause to make you sigh, lower your head and put your hands into the pockets of whatever jacket you had on. They made you attempt to minimise yourself from view and become as invisible as humanly possible.

"The meek shall inherit the earth..." you darkly quote the Bible as you see a long, old shiny black car with a rumbling engine like a thunderstorm in a metallic frame pull into the parking lot of the diner, "but all I see are sickos and dickheads, and they're far from meek."

Ah, with all of these travellers you'd seen and been classed among - you, as it seemed, according to the wary words from protective girlfriends and mothers, you, were a home wrecker - there was nothing to compare to a traveller like who you really were. 

A hunter.

And not the 'deer and bear' sort of hunter - you were a part of a dying underground breed of weird, the freak with salt shotgun shells and silver knives and a plethora of knowledge on what everyone believed to be either myth or legend.

Groaning inwardly to yourself, you take a sip from the paper cup of coffee - white, two sugars - and watch two men who fit the bill as stereotypical handsome hotshots clambered out of the beautifully old car with stiff legs that couldn't have been caused by anything other than a road trip from through the window of the diner that was dying for a clean. You look to the ceiling and wonder what Bobby Singer, the only hunter that felt like a sort of parent to you, might think of these guys. 

He'd rip into them, alright; like a bulldog into two corgis - pretty boys don't know squat, about anything or hunting, ______, he'd chuckle, rolling his eyes, idjits. The whole damn lot of them.

You take another sip of the coffee, and avert your gaze to the newspaper in front of you, returning to the hunt for find another job where you can kick butt and save some innocent people with no help or acknowledgement. 

Besides, you didn't need help. You were a goddamned hunter. 

The headlines are plain: teenager stabs prom date with seven inch heels - you laugh out loud at that one - woman wins lottery - good for her, you think, but then your eyes then flick to a smaller headline near the bottom right hand of the page - bizarre mutilated deaths of local citizens - and you wonder if what you read was what you really read.

Fangs. 

Maybe. Nonetheless, you had to check it out. 

But out of the corner of your eye you saw the two guys amble into the front entry to the diner, and get a good look at the pair of them. 

Your rule was to not touch: it didn't hurt to look. 

One was taller, brown hair not really cut to the short style, but grown out a bit; he had a face that still held its cutesy appearance that remained from high school but demanded the world to take it as an adult seriously. The other: built like a tank, slightly tanned, blonde hair shorter than the other guy's. As he walked by, you get a flash of his bright mustard green eyes as they briefly linger over you and you quickly avert your eyes as if having seen something worthy enough to be forced to look aside from. 

Damn, you mutter internally. Should've just painted a target on my head. 

You look down at your paper cup of coffee, ready to swallow the dregs of the good stuff, but realise - you'd already finished it. "Screw it," you mutter, and folding your paper up and under your arm, you rise from the perch and get to the counter at the same time as the two guys. Melanie, the elderly woman who waits on tables to pay for her husband's nursing home fees - you helped her once; the ghost of her son who had died young had become a bit homicidal about a year ago - looked to you and the two men and gave a laugh.

"Thirty three years of waiting tables, and never once had three customers at once at the till!" She gave you a wink, "Another refill, (y/n)?"

You nod, and as Melanie whisks your cup to be filled again - coffee always on the house for you since the job you did for her - she turns to the two men and with a dazzling smile for an elderly woman, she asks the boys what they'd want to grab. 

"Coffee," they both say, "Black."

Melanie hands your coffee back to you with a grin and writes down the order. "Anything else, darl?"

The shorter of the two, the blonde man nodded. "Bacon cheeseburger. And he'll have a salad." He said 'salad' the same way people would say 'tarantula'. 

You turn to walk away, but hear the blonde man clear his throat. 

"What is it?" You turn, and see he had been staring at your ass. Giving him a look of discontentment so deep it might have sunken into his soul, you continue on, "Do I owe you something like a hello or a phone number because of my gender and appearance?" 

The taller of the two laughed and whacked the blonde's back with a playful punch. "Owned!" He bellowed under his breath. 

"Because," you pause, "I don't feel compelled to know anything more than your name and that you won't be bothering me anymore."

Melanie returned with their orders in paper bags, and the taller of the two slipped his wallet from his jacket and paid for the meal. The taller with brown hair gave you a smile worthy of being framed and sold for a million dollars. "I'm Sam Winchester," he ventured, "and this is my brother-,"

The blonde grinned. His smile was like a shot of vodka in a bottle of grape juice: giddy. Delicious. "Dean Winchester."

"I'm ______ ______," you nod. "Nice meeting you, Dean." You raise your refilled cup of coffee in his direction. "Sam."


	2. Things That Go Bump In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night walk in your motel parking lot turns out to be much more exciting than it should be, running into the guy from the diner. Dean, wasn't it?

Winchester. The name rung a bell. Maybe after the job was done you'd go up the country and ask Bobby a few questions on lineage.

Ah, you groan inwardly - your mind had strayed once more. You had been hanging out - more like cooped up - in the motel room all night, piecing the parts of the article in the newspaper together with the research you managed to hack up on the old laptop you drag across the country with. And what you came up wasn't that much - a few out of the ordinary kidnappings and the mutilated corpses, and the only abandoned building in proximity to all of them was in a huge field on the outskirts of town - and it was too late in the night to go and behead a covey of fangs.

It would be absolute literal suicide to go after vampires at night.

Your head was buzzing and the look of the motel bed that had certainly seen better days didn't appeal to you in any way whatsoever.

You know, ______, you thought to yourself, it wouldn't kill you to take a walk to cool off.

The idea sounded better than a night of laying awake between scratchy over-washed motel blankets, and grabbing a small hand gun - useless to fangs and werewolves and skin walkers - you tuck it into the waist band of your jeans. Donning a jacket, you lock the door behind you as you exit the self made prison that you had locked yourself in since you had the run-in with the Winchester brothers.

Taking a deep breath, you see the air pass before your lips like a cold dragon and turn to walk down the strip of motel rooms on the first level. Apart from the poorly kept LED lighting on the motel's exterior, you don't have any other light to walk by.

The cold calms you down like a well adjusted sedative, and within minutes, you find your mind at peace. Your room, room 7, is only a few doors away; by the time you reach room 2 your breathing is even and eyelids ready to drop for the night.

That is, until you walk into something firm and warm and a little taller than you.

"Son of a bitch," you hear it cuss violently.

At once, you spring up alert, and click a bullet into place in the gun you had slipped into your jeans. You keep the gun aimed low, near your feet - but the person who walked into doesn't know that.

"What are you doing out so late?" You hiss, eyes narrowing in the dark in an attempt to see who you walked into.

"Could ask the same about you," the voice is deeper, more masculine.

You swear you know it. Going out on a limb, you venture a guess, "Dean Winchester?"

He cusses again. "How'd you know my name? Do I owe you money or something?"

You laugh, slipping the bullet in the gun back in place where it can't go off shooting things. "It's ______," you sigh when he doesn't remember, "you attempted to wean my phone number out of me earlier."

Starting to see better in the dark, you watch as the blonde Winchester bobs his head in recognition of memory.

"I usually meet girls in bars, ______," he admits with a laugh, "not in diners."

You snort. "So why are you in the parking lot of the motel I'm staying in?"

There was a pause. "Well..."

You sigh. "Desperate," you glance to the stars that are barely there in the cloudy night. "Singer was right."

You start back to your motel room only to hear the crunch of footsteps behind you. "______," you hear Dean call out like a whine, "I'm not some creep, okay - I'm," you hear a sigh, "undercover at the moment. FBI."

You turn to see his face underneath the lights of the motel overhang and give him a dubious look of doubt. "Really?" You laugh, "and that kid, Sam, he's your partner?" Dean nodded. "Ah, well, I want to see some ID if you're going to be telling that lie, Winchester."

He gave a smile that looked just like a child who had done a poor job of covering its tracks. From the inside pocket of his jacket, he took out a badge; FBI, alright.

"See?" He grinned. "Not stalking you."

You snort. "Good night, Dean."

And at that, you stalk back into your motel room and fall into the bed at the same time as falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy hell I hate myself for uploading this fic on here. 
> 
> If you're on tumblr hmu with follows at @susiephalange for mediocre content!


	3. FBI, My Ass!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your hunt, the one you laid dibs on, the one that Bobby had sent you to go fix, has been usurped. By who? Read more to find out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I sound like an underpaid journalist with a clickbait article.

You woke later than usual, and rising like a reverent from the dead, you mechanically dress and eat breakfast, pack up your things and prepare to go leave the motel. If all went to plan, you wouldn't need to come back to it that night. Slinging your duffle bag over a shoulder you quietly exit the room and toss your things in the back of your car - a huge four wheel drive truck with a tray and four seats all up. As you slide your key into the engine, you glance across the motel parking lot and see no signs bar tyre tracks of the Winchester boys you ran into in both the diner and the night before. 

As your truck rumbles down the way you drove it to according to the map that shows you where the fangs are, you twist the knob for local radio and are disappointed as to what they are playing. 

What happened to rock music? The heady sway of a guitar and drum set manned by human beings? 

You sigh, and with a glance to the map on the seat beside you, you realise you're almost at the field where it all takes place. 

Show time, you think. 

As you kill the engine of your vehicle and roll it into an area most inconspicuous, you see you have company. Those pretty guys from the diner, those Winchester boys. FBI undercover. Happened to be in the same motel as you. Now they just happened to beat you to your nest of vampires. 

"FBI, my ass," you mutter, quietly closing the cabin door to the truck. You'd much rather slam it for dramatic effect, but with maybe twenty plus vamps inside, you wouldn't want to take the chance. 

Grabbing a blade, wicked sharp but small enough to hide in the belt loops of your jeans hidden under your coat, you advance on the boys. 

"So I see this is another coincidence," you say, looking into the driver's window to see the blonde Winchester, Dean, jump at your voice. 

He gave a smile. "Told you, FBI, sweetheart," his eyes flicked to the other one, Sam. 

Quietly, you laugh, "Yeah, FBI. Big mistake, impersonating an officer, Dean," you take out a badge from the side of your jacket that doesn't have the knife underneath, "Don't screw with the law."

His face pales. "Homeland security?" He takes a deep breath, but you know you've gotten to him through that veil of superiority.

"Yeah," you reply, "mind if I take a look in the trunk? Standard procedure, boys." Sam gives you a smile, kind of like a puppy dog, but it doesn't break you. 

You move down the back of the car, inspection the backseat. Nothing out of the ordinary; a cracked leather jacket slung across the left headrest, an old newspaper dating a few days ago.   
You make it to the rearmost end of the car and open the boot. A single duffel bag, small of its make sits in the boot. You give a sigh and slip your fingers underneath the obviously fake floor and gasp. 

The doors to the car open at once, and both Sam and Dean Winchester get out, hands in the air. 

"We can explain," Sam pleaded.

You know who they are now - who else carries holy water and a mountainous amount of ammo and guns? A hunter. Who else has a devil's trap painted onto the roof of the trunk? 

A hunter. 

But you want to keep them hanging. A little frightened.

For kicks, of course. 

"Explain, then," you bark back, "two nut jobs with fake IDs impersonating officers, a trunk full of weaponry and hoodoo shit that half of the country doesn't allow in?" 

Dean gives you a smile that might have started wars back when the Romans were popular and Egyptians mummified their royals. Underneath your cool exterior, it does more to you than start a war, but you can't admit that now. 

"Look, lady," he begins.

"It's _____ _____," you correct, "and holy hell, I'm glad you two are hunters. Would have saved me from saving your assess. Fangs are my specialty."

They stood dumbfounded. "You're a hunter?" Sam asked. You nod. "Dean, you got your ass handed to you twice from _____" he laughed. 

Dean frowned. "Shut up." He turned to you. "So, you're here for the vamps?"

You pull back the side of your jacket where your blade is safely tucked. "Yep," you grin. "You two?" 

Sam and Dean Winchester approach you, and grab two knives, perfect for fangs from the trunk. "Bring it on, sister." Dean grins.


	4. Burning The Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, working with the Winchesters, you go on to complete your mission.

Glad by the recent turn of events, you and the Winchester boys advance on the old disgustingly rundown building. 

You give it a once over; broken windows that had all been boarded up, roof tiles flaking off, paint job hasn't been redone in half a century ... you nod. Who else but a nest of fangs, unable to feel the cold to bum in a joint like this?You, Dean and Sam Winchester get to the only front door, a massive hardwood plank that had been averted into becoming a door. Trying the knob under your hand - quietly - you find it to be locked. 

Ironically.

"Sammy," Dean stage whispers, like its a ritual to say his name like that when doors are locked. 

Sam nods, and from his jacket produces an array of lock picks. You watch, curious, as he slowly slides the metal in and jiggle softly until you all hear the familiar click of a door opening. 

You girl the small, narrow hilt of your long knife and gesture to the boys to open the door, and as they do so, a small breeze comes in, fluttering your (h/l) (h/c) hair into your face anti-climatically, ruining the moment a little. 

"Honey," Dean stage whispers as he entered the run down house, "I'm home."

You give a small exhale as a substitute for a laugh and follow in behind Dean, with Sam following behind you. 

Your eyes adjust to the old house's light not immediately, but in the semi-darkness, you find yourself in a hallway, a long one, with lots of doors coming off the sides. 

"_____," Dean breathes, "check out the rooms."

You nod, glad someone had a plan. 

With all the lore on vampires, there was only about two perfect that was true. For one, they had more than just two fangs; they had a whole mouth of them. And they could walk over bridges, and who didn't hate garlic - especially on someone's breath? They couldn't turn into bats, and - you poke your head into the first room; nothing there - mirrors did squat to a fang. 

You carefully look into a room to your right, and see no signs of recent habitation bar a broken bottle of whiskey splashed over the floor. Advancing, you put your shoe toward the stain on the floor and hear a small squelch. Fresh. 

Boys would be interested in that, maybe. 

There wasn't any hints as to kill a fang in the lore found in popular culture - but you knew it. After spending a month up with Bobby, learning the ropes to hunting, you knew.   
Dead man's blood, like venom to them. And to kill a vampire: beheading. Hence the large knives. 

You catch up with the Winchester's, and find them at the end of the large hallway, where it turns into a large room. Most likely, you deduce from the floor plan of the place, a lounge room, rumpus room, maybe. 

You watch as Sam takes a deep breath. And Dean as well. Taking the hint, you do so as well, and use the lungs in your chest to your advantage. As you open your eyes, you see Dean holding his fingers up, counting down from three like rookie soldiers in military movies do. Three. Two. Go.

You all make a move for the room, and not shocked at all, you find it swarming with fangs. Your breath catches in your throat. In the entire room is a gathering of more vamps than you had ever seen in your life, and you had seen - and killed - plenty. About fifteen vampires lay sleeping in various places deemed good enough to sleep in - two lay side by side in a soda bed, four slept in hammocks, hanging from the roof, a few - maybe four, five, maybe seven, even? - on sleep mats and two in the window seat, spooning by the tarpaulin over the boarded up window, snoring like little cartoon characters. 

You look to the brothers. 

Sam looked to Dean, and he made a head count and frowned. You saw he was in over his head. You all were. 

But he gave to go ahead. 

It happened all at once - Dean went to work, and as soon as the first head rolled, the covey of fangs woke, angry. 

You'd be angry too if you found trespassers in your house bumping off your 'family', too. 

"Hunters!" A skinny female African American vamp yelled, infuriated. You watched as she leapt toward you, eyes in fury, full set of fangs out, her face getting closer by the second - 

And you, with a single stroke, finished her. 

The rest of the raid was a blur, all until it was decided frugal to burn the place down. 

"So it isn't a welcome invitation to all the monsters out there for a summer home," Dean laughed. You helped Sam drain kerosine and petrol tins over the place, and as you saw Dean laugh, you couldn't help but see it to be maniacal, maybe. You all had blood spatters on your faces and it brought a new look to you. 

Insane, maybe. 

"Torch it," Sam sighed, and you struck a match. 

"With pleasure."

The small flaming twig fell into the line of flammable liquid, and you and the boys turned away from the building as it nearly boomed with heat.

"Nice working with you, boys," you grin at the Winchester brothers. "See you around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going over this again makes me re-think how shitty I've been thinking it is. Maybe 16 year old Dean-fangirl me was onto something half genius here.


	5. Celebration at Vixen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunter's job is hard, alright? So what if they want to wash the bad memories away with alcohol. It's just those pesky cat callers who make life hard. Lucky, you have a Dean on your side.

To commemorate yourself and Dean and Sam Winchester's job on the nest, you found it inside yourself to take the truck to the only bar in town - a neat little joint dubbed Vixen.

You strolled in, and became aware almost immediately of what you were wearing; boots and jeans and a shaggy jacket were not the norm inside. Women, both younger and older than you wore revealing dresses and shorts that barely did their job, shirts that almost couldn't pass as bras alone and heels too high for your taste. You were a rough-it girl. One that could dress up at times; use the whip of femininity to your advantage...but still a rough-it girl.Your eye catches the men; they range from barely of age to almost in the grave. Drinking and hitting on them all.

You give a sigh at their desperate mating calls and waltz over to the bar.

"You're not quite such a looker, then, are you?" 

You turn to the voice, and see the dilated pupils of an intoxicated man, smell the alcohol on his breath. "Oh, so now it's a requirement now, is it? I have to make myself look appeasing to your gender now?" You groan. "Hit on someone your own size, pal."

Turning back to the bar, you see the bartender and see him giving a well known gaze to you: the suspicious eye.

"I'm passing through town," you tell him to quell his thoughts. From the faded photograph taped to the wall behind him, you see he has a pair of twins, male, and near your age. "And I'll have a beer."

The man beside you chuckled slowly, the liqueur taking its toll on his speech. "So your a lesbian, then," he scrunched his nose. "No, you're not. You're straight ... up wanting me. I get it. Play hard to get. Such a turn on."

You turn to him, and give a slicing glance. "Piss off, mate," you growl.

His smile widens. "You're so gorgeous," he slurred, and not thinking straight - you can kill vampires without a second glance, but not flinch away - the guy's hand is on your upper arm.

"She said piss off."

The guy's hand dropped, and your eyes darted to the person who had held off the unpleasant occasion of being felt up.

"Really?" You laugh, beside yourself. Half pleased, half amused. All dubious.

It's Dean Winchester.

"Really." He turned to the guy, and with a tilt of his head and narrowing of his mustard green eyes, he frowns, "Why can't you desperate jerks learn that no means no?"

The guy wilts away, his drunken bravado becoming sullen and dwindling. He heaved a sigh, "You should have just said you're taken," he grumbled, and gave Dean the stink eye, sliding out of his bar stool to a booth nearby. "Jerk."

He rolled his eyes, turning to you. "______, you possibly couldn't have thought you had that guy under check," he gave you a look.

You frown. "I was going to use the element of surprise," you don't want to let Dean know you were almost prey to a predator. You need to be strong, make a good first impression. Be the hunter that Bobby trained you up to be. You see that Dean is still looking at you that way, "What is it, then?" You frown, "stunned by my incredible ability to slay fangs?"

He snorts. "Let me buy you a drink, ______?" He gives you a wink.

You hold your beer up and give a smile. "Covered, chief," you grin, "So what's the deal, why is it also by chance you and I are in the same bar on the same night?" You look around the bar, and remember, "And where's that brother of yours, Dean?"

You watch as the elder Winchester slide onto the unoccupied bar stool beside you, adjust his leather jacket and give you an award winning smile.

"I'll admit it, I followed you here. Wanted to make sure you were A-Okay after the raid earlier," he paused, flagging the bartender for a beer, "and Sammy? He's holed up in the motel. Reading up on his folklore. You know, that kind of stuff."

You nod, taking a drag of the beer. "That's all fine and well, Dean, but why? You do know it's only fine to stalk rouge monsters, but," you pause, "I'm not some mystical beast."

He frowned. "Are you drunk, ______?"

You shook your head. "Just this one, Dean."

He nodded. "Well, seeing as I had some before I got here and this ..." he did a series of calculations, "is the sixth drink I've had to tonight, I've got to tell you something."

You nod to get him to kept talking, and take a sip of your beer.

"I like you, ______." You want to groan at another pickup line, but somehow, being slightly hit on by Dean Winchester of all the men in the world seems like not the worst thing in the world. "You're a great hunter."

Embarrassed blush roars over your cheeks something like hell fire over dry grass.

"Thanks," you stumble over your words. "You too, Dean."

He raises his glass to you, and you do the same. "To hunting. There will always be a fight."

You knock your bottle gently into his, and echo, "to hunting."

The pair of you drink to the toast, and you drain the beer in your bottle. Dean, noticing this, sees and gives you a gentlemanly grin. "Let me buy you your second, ______, if I can't get you your first."

With a shake of your head, you sigh. "Ah, I'm driving out tonight, sorry pal. Got to get to South Dakota pronto."

Dean nods. "Job?"

You shake your head. "Hunter. You heard of Bobby? Singer?" He nods. "Yeah, well, he's like a dad to me. Make a rendezvous, stick to a rendezvous, y'know?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "It's nearly eleven o'clock, you shouldn't be driving, not even in your huge truck."

You go to protest, "It's tough, Dean, I can drive at night -,"

"Check into the motel again, ______ -,"

"It's way after hours -,"

Dean rolled his eyes, near to the point of the debate where he wants you to settle. 

"Crash in our room, then."

"Fine. Deal."


	6. Son Of A Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's research turns out not to be, prompting a different night than you planned.

You follow Dean back to the motel he was in - same one as what you were in before you checked out before the hunt - in your truck and follow the famed hunter as you both get to his room. "Sammy'll be researching or something..." Dean rolled his eyes, and sliding the key into the lock and opening the door, the pair of you gasp and withdraw. 

"That was definitely not research," you breath, and slowly turn it into a laugh that Dean share. 

"Hmm..." he frowns after a few seconds, "we could crash in the Impala if you want; not going to interrupt what Sam's got going on."

You nod. Sounds like a plan. 

"I'll take the front seat, then," he grins. "You get back, _____."

You nod, not sure if the blush that has crept out of a cage in hell and onto your face is entirely visible in the dark. Dean unlocks the Impala, and you take your jacket and curl yourself into a ball on the backseat. The leather covers wasn't cracked - not as many people mustn't have been on the backseat. 

And slowly, you fall asleep.

For a couple of hours. It's something like two A.M. when a semi trailer goes hurdling down the blacktop highway and you snap awake. Your (e/c) eyes widen, hand already to the knife on the floor of the backseat. 

"Shhh," you hear a voice from the front of the car say; it was Dean, "shhh, it was only a truck going by. Go back to sleep."

You'd love to back to sleep, you'd really do. It's just that your heart is beating fast in your chest and head swimming and no, no, you can't go back to sleep. "I could ask the same thing." You groan and turn over so your back is flat against the seat and head can see the flat expanse of the inner roof. Dean gave a long sigh and you added into your short speech, "C'mon. Tell me. I'm all ears."

"Nightmare."

You nod. "Hunting nightmare or just ..."

"Hunting." He gruffly replied. "Someone died that was important to me."

You nod. "Sam," you give a sigh, and add , "Dean, Sam's okay he's -,"

He cut you short with a silent shake of his head. "Wasn't Sam, though." You sat in the Impala surrounded by the absence of noise and answers. Almost five minutes pass, you and Dean sitting there, front seat and back until he adds, "it was you. Demons got you. And you died before me ..."

You nod. "But Dean, I'm not dead. Look, heartbeat and soul." You lean forward in the seat to lightly touch his shoulder. As soon as you graze Dean's jacket, his tension uncoils. 

"Are you ... are you into me, Dean?" You didn't mean it to be mocking, but it sort of sounded the way a fourth grader would tease.

He didn't move, "I don't know, _____ ... yes. I've never seen a hunter like you before and I just wanted to do this in the bar and I wasn't sure if it was okay," he turned, and reaching, caressed your face. You expected yourself to flinch under his touch, but nothing bad came. "I feel like I've lived a whole life with you already. It just ... I just feel right around you. You know?"

Oh, you realised. You were in love with him.

"Dean," you whispered, "Dean, you can come onto the backseat. If you want."

He gave a laugh, and dropped his hand. You did so too. "Is it big enough to have both of us?" he wondered. 

You shrugged. "Only one way to find out," you smiled. 

You heard the shifting of a leather jacket on the upholstery and the quiet closing of a door and the slight night air tossing your (h/c) hair silently and slightly in the breeze. And then the creaking of another person beside you in the backseat of the car, the click of the door back in place. 

"Dean?" you asked.

"Yeah?" he whispered. 

"Would you ... be offended if I wanted to kiss you tonight? Cuddle at most?"

You saw Dean shake his head. "No. I'd never be offended. We'll go at your pace."

You relaxed into his form, and felt his arms wrap around you, a head resting on top of your. You could hear - and feel - Dean humming something in his throat, some familiar rock song. 

"Is that ..." you frown, "is that Blue Oyster Cult?" 

He nods. "Burnin' for you, _______, I'm burnin' for you."

You grin; it was always a favourite of yours. "Son of a gun, Winchester, you are a son of a gun." You whisper into the Impala. "And I think I love you."

You hear the noise of Dean settling into the backseat comfortably. "I know I love you, ______. I know I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me please...


	7. Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter and fluff? Yeah. 16 year old Susie thought this was how fluff was. Forgive her. Forgive me.

You woke with a stiff neck, and briefly wondered how you could've gotten it. But then you remembered what events you had gotten up to and did the night before.   
What innocent cuddling turned into. What heated, passionate kissing turned into. What -

"You're awake now, ______," you heard Dean murmur, and turning your head slightly to see the shorter, elder blonde Winchester, a smile broke over your lips, like sunshine over the world at morning. 

How unlike you, you thought. But it happened anyway. 

"Do," you began, pausing as you began stretching out the cramps and creaks, a yawn coming from your mouth, "Do we tell Sam? That we walked in on him last night when he was," you frowned, not really wanting to talk about it, "or that we -,"

Dean shrugged. "I'll tell him. Don't fret."

You raised your hands sleepily in surrender to a crime not committed. "Not fretting, Winchester, can you tell?"

And suddenly, as quick as you could blink, there was a kiss on your forehead. A blush seeped over your cheeks like spilt ink and you gave another smile. Dean had made you different, you thought as you looked to him, being tough around him was as useless as a surfboard in a wildfire. 

He made you smile. He had you open. 

You'd been around, and seriously, you'd never pick him as the best for you. As his sort to be your type. 

Maybe impeccably handsome, mass supernatural killers weren't your type ... maybe you were just into him. 

"Do you do this to all the women you meet, Dean?" you wondered idly. 

You didn't mind, though, if he said yes. Let him do what he does, and let yourself do what you do. Let it be; a simple philosophy. 

There was a pause, then "Well, not all of them ..." he stumbled over his words. "I, uh -,"

You shrugged. "I don't mind. Not jealous. At all, honestly; I wouldn't mind if what just happened turned into a one night stand. At least it was with you."

Dean gave a huff of air, a soundless snort of laughter. "That's a nice speech, but you're the one going away. South Dakota?" He reminded you.

You groaned, shifting in your positioning on the backseat of the Impala. Oh, you remembered, that rendezvous with Bobby. 

"Yeah, in this case, it is me," you agreed, "but I'm ... I -," you sat up straight and pulled the loose strands of (h/c) from your eyes, "what I'm trying to say is, if you happen to drop by Bobby Singer's place, come in. I'd like that."

Dean nodded, and you could see how tired he was. It was a look that all hunters wore after a while. Seeing unnatural, and frankly, supernatural things did that to you. 

"I'd like that - too," he said. 

It wasn't until you sank into a hug with him that you realised his voice had been choked with emotion. 

Tough love, you said to yourself. You don't get what you want. And when you don't ... deal with it. Tough.


	8. Robert Singer, Father Figure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your adopted father Bobby has you back after the trek to his place, and it's time for some R&R.

Apart from all the negatives of having to drive everywhere, you didn't mind too much about eating the blacktop in your truck. The drive to South Dakota was done in a gruelingly long burst filled with pit stops, coffee cups and classic rock radio stations. 

You didn't mind Bobby Singer - he was a father to you, made you in the know of the supernatural world around you after your family had been killed. He was a grumpy guy, sarcastic times but there wasn't anything that man couldn't handle. 

After you passed breezily through the state of Illinois, and before you got to the the border of Iowa, a song came on the radio. 

Blue Oyster Cult - Burnin' for you. 

And you remembered the night previous, with Dean, the creaking of his jacket, the smell of his hair and that signature scent of the Impala, the way you fit perfectly into his side, cuddling ... how it turned into kissing, then -

You gave a hiss of not anger; angst. 

"Damn you, Winchester," you hit the steering wheel mildly, yelling because it was only you in the car, and all the passing cars wouldn't hear your words, "I'm supposed to be a professional, not some middle-school lovesick moron!"

But that didn't stop you from liking him. 

You made South Dakota by nightfall, and Bobby's house by the time the sun had surely set. He was siting out on the porch, a long rifle on his lap, looking into the distance, and as you pulled in your truck, he stood, a grim grin over his face, rifle in hand.

"Darn you, (y/n)!" He growled as you clambered out of the cabin of your truck and have your old friend a hug, "what kept you?"

You gave a laugh. "Ran in with the Winchesters," you sighed, "turned out we were both cleaning out the same fang infestation." You see your mentor and friend giving you a look that non-verbally said bullshit, "Oh, Bobby, I had to stay the night, you got to sleep!"

He nodded. "So, Winchesters?" He asked, "Sam and Dean. Did those idjits give you any trouble, _____?"

You shook your head, and made your way into the house. "Nope. Got anything to eat? I'm starved."

"Of course you are," he drawls, with a chuckle, following you inside. The Singer house hadn't changed a bit since your trip out - the wallpaper was still peeling, smell still distinctively just like Bobby and as you turned into the kitchen and saw all the phones for the different top secret services he faked for, you couldn't see a difference.

You'd been all over America, but this was the place you called home.


	9. Baking Pies For The Guys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pies, and Dean? In the same room? Unlikely. Whoops. Did I not say that Winchester boy returned? Welp. Someone call ______, get her to fire up the oven. It's time to bake, kids.

You stayed with Bobby for a week, helping out with all the things that needed to be done that the guy couldn't or wouldn't get around to - for example, Bobby couldn't dust for the life of him. And with all the spare time on your hands, you tried looking for another case to take on - sheesh, the need to go out and slay some supernatural son of a gun was overwhelming - but Bobby being Bobby looking out for you like the stand in father figure had other ideas at your self preservation.

"C'mon, Bobby," you whined slightly, trying to prove your point, "I can do a solo hunt, I just -,"

Then you remembered. That wasn't a solo hunt. You joined up with the Winchester boys. Damn, you thought. Just lost some right to go and kill stuff myself.

"Uh-uh, _______," Bobby sassed, putting the loaded pistol down in the desk's draw where he sat behind. "Give yourself a little more time. Study up on the exorcism ritual, read about wendigos and Djinn's." he gave a look that through his scraggly beard was awfully like a bitchface. "Just don't go out and gank one before you know what you're slaying!"

You agreed to his terms - despite his outrageous accent and ideals about saving the world, Bobby was a good person, and you respected that.

Eight hours later you were still sitting on the windowsill, the mound of books around you growing larger every sixty minutes passing. You'd read up on the lore of Paegan Gods and werewolves and wendigos and shape shifters and demons and, to Bobby's derision, angels, which he hadn't seen any proof of yet.

Just as your right foot became numb from the way you were sitting on it, you heard the sound of a car engine and the scrape of dirt under wheels.

Visitors.

You turned slightly, looking out the pane of the window you were seated in front of and a smile tugged on your lips.

Winchester's.

"Bobby?" you called out, "those boys are here!"

You heard the grumpy mumblings slip from his mouth before he entered the room, but as soon as Bobby saw the black Impala a wry grin was visible under his scraggly facial hair.

He was out to greet them at the doorstep in minutes. You could hear the shared conversation without moving - they spoke deep and loudly.

"I can see you boys didn't die last hunt," Bobby started, "how're you? You boys want a beer or something?"

"This isn't a long stop, we just came for some advice on," you heard Sam Winchester say, but the next words you couldn't hear because it was whispered. "You know how it is."

You got up from your perch and hobbled with your numb foot to the front door. There they were - the Winchesters. Sam and Dean. From what Bobby let you know, their dad, John Winchester had died only recently, and left the 'family business' to his sons.

You would never do that to a person, you decided. You'd never leave the world in someone's hands, on their shoulders. You'd never make a person tremble with the responsibility.

Sam, standing tall with his height in plaid was beside his brother, in that gorgeous leather jacket of his.

Then they saw you, "______, wasn't it?" Sam frowned quizzically.

You nodded, and moved toward the group. "Yeah, that's me. How you both going? Want to come in?" you already knew the answer from what you overheard.

"No, sorry ..." Dean smiled sympathetically.

"I got bored yesterday," you prefaced, "and I baked. A lot. Too much for Bobby and I to get through."

Bobby snorted, remembering. "She made like, eight pies. For no reason."

An eyebrow of Dean's shot up, and it was already seen by his brother when he said, "time off won't hurt anyone, would it?"

Bobby nodded. "Want that beer now?"

Sam nodded for his brother who had already come inside. "Yeah, I'm guessing so."


	10. Veil of Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventure with the Winchesters? What are you, a love interest or a main character? You decide, in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way to go, 16 year old Susie. You've ruined the rep for all these great kid writers out there with your stupid lovesick mind. Forgive me, please. And the angsty chptr title I had to keep because why not??

You liked being around the boys again - as much as Bobby was a great laugh, he was gruff and told old stories, but Sam and Dean were around your age and pretty much the most famous hunters in the country. Every other hunter you heard of didn't moonlight as a fed and get away with it 92% of the time, and even then, every other hunter wasn't on the America's Most Wanted list and had been for a few months.

You went to sleep that night picturing Dean's face, his lips pulled into a rare smile (that wasn't intent on sarcastically jeering a paranormal being on its deathbed, a smile that would be on his face if there was ever a day off from hunting) and eyes gleaming with the look one gets from gazing at something for too long without blinking.

Ever since that night you slept in his car with him, you hadn't gotten your mind off his dirty-blonde hair, his tough-guy swagger. 

Dean Winchester. 

You must have dropped off at one point because you woke when you heard an almighty crash and an abhorrent combination of cuss words following it, emanating from the downstairs of Bobby's house. Either there was a break-in - unlikely, Bobby didn't have neighbours old or able enough to do such a thing, and who'd break into a place with a car wrecking yard on the property? - or someone was sneaking out. 

You knew what those whispered words you couldn't have heard earlier were; a hunt that those Winchester boys didn't want to share with you. Bobby didn't want it either. 

As nice as it was that everyone wanted you safe, safe wasn't good enough. Everyone's gotta kick some ass sometime in their life. 

You slipped out of bed, donning the old V-neck sweater and a pair of socks so your feet didn't make a noise on the floorboards and crept down to see exactly what you anticipated. Sam stood over an upturned duffle bag of the usual hunting gear - bottled holy water, salt rounds, a rifle - and Dean doing his best to pick up the spill. 

"You'll wake up _____ if you're not careful, bitch," Dean frowned at his younger brother. 

"Jerk," Sam retorted, "I know it's not a game, but can you loosen up? It's like, almost midnight and we've got to go."

You understood immediately why was going on. You were a girl. One of those things that you couldn't really change about yourself, and that was why everyone wanted to protect you. Keep you safe from the things under the bed. 

You snuck back into your room, and quietly picking up your escape bag - you always kept one handy, you never knew what would come to get you as a hunter - you slid the screen out of the window and balanced the way to the front, where the Winchester's had their Impala parked. Also where the gutter was, where you shimmied down with grace like you'd never thought you'd see yourself with. 

By the time you made it to the car of Dean, you realised two things. One, your hair was a complete bird's nest, sticking up and everything, and two - 

"Son of a bitch," you heard his voice sigh. "_______, you need to go back inside -," 

You saw Dean by the door, giving you the disappointed look that you knew well - you were a rule breaker, but never would you do it if not needed. 

"What, and be a good little girl? My ass. I'm coming. I've got all the right to." you paused, and saw Sam had come out to see the commotion. "I'm a hunter too, Dean, you saw me in that nest of fangs. It's what I'm good at." 

They both sighed. 

"______ -,"

"And you two are sneaking out, at midnight -," you continued, wincing, "its cliche, really. Damaging the ego there, aren't we?"

You heard another string of cuss words and a gruff laugh. 

"You're pushing it, but you're in, _______," you saw Sammy sigh.


	11. Demons and Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trips with the boys would be more fun if they played I-spy. But they don't. They're from a serious TV show for serious grown ups. 4th wall break!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-graphic description of a gross body...idk, it isn't gore. But I'm warning you.

Though you didn't like to admit it, the long road trip that took from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to New York State was enjoyable to a degree. First, you weren't driving - a leisure which allowed you an hour of sleep on the backseat. And Dean was behind the wheel. 

And his gorgeous old music was almost picturesque. 

At one point in the state of Pensilvania, Blue Oyster Cult came on one of the cassettes - the song he'd hummed that night the two of you and Sam had gone on that hunt; Burnin' for you - and though you saw a noticeable cringe on Sam's face (you wondered what made him feel that way, it was a decently awesome tune), you shared also very noticeable glances with Dean. 

Who was lip reading the lyrics in the rear vision mirror to you. It brought a smile to your face, a faint one. 

You wondered idly if he felt the same about you - the fluttering feeling in the chest, middle-school sort of crush on each other. You were a tough girl. He was a tough guy.   
But...you wanted something to come out of it. 

"Are we there yet?" you whined, averting your eyes to the asphalt that ran for what seemed like ever on the road you and the boys took. "C'mon, it's been like, hours. I need to stretch or something."

Sam grunted some agreement to you, and with a groan, Dean pulled his baby off the blacktop and onto a pull off area with rundown picnic tables and old tall trees and a lake. The water brought a cool breeze onto your skin and you peeled your jacket off, grateful for the wind. 

"Looks nice here," you heard Sam stretch, and Dean nodded.

"Real pretty," you added. 

"We'd make it by nightfall if you too didn't want to -," he fell silent, letting his grumblings remain inside his mind. 

You weren't out out at all by it - it was such a nice day; the trees stood silent and still even though the air snaked its way every which-way, and you saw footprints in the dirt, leading toward the lake. 

Curious, you left the boys to their stretching and internal grumblings and followed the prints a fair distance to the lake, making sure you remembered where you had gone so not to becoming utterly and hopelessly lost. To your embarrassment, you could admit truthfully that it had happened before. 

But just as you made it to the edge of the clearing, three feet or so away from the water's edge, you realised something was more than a bit wrong with the trail. 

It just ... ended. 

A right foot print, a left footprint and then ... Nothing. Not even an indentation or a place where it could have been and then smothered over, like covering of tracks. 

You could still hear Dean and Sam bantering - brotherly disputes you'd never understand since you never had a brother - and tilted your head to try and understand what had happened to make the footprints just go. 

It had your type of hunting labelled all over it. 

You went to turn back to walk to the boys and tell all about the find you had made - a case in the making - but then you saw. The footprints had just disappeared. And you were terrible at orienteering. You took your phone out to use the maps, heck, GPS might work, but you heard a deep voice behind you and in shock and very unprofessionally for your line of work, you jumped. 

And dropped your phone into a rock. The sound of the screen smashing wasn't enough to bring you out of the wraparound sensation of fear you felt. 

"I'm lost," the voice said. 

You turned to see a man, around thirty dressed for hiking but he didn't look like he would be up to it - as his head was bleeding profusely and hands bloodied. 

"My car is just over there," you lied, pointing to the expanse of forest around you. "I can give you a ride into the nearest hospital."

Something wasn't right. The man shouldn't have been conscious with that much blood loss. You took a step back, and the man smiled, teeth bloody. 

"They can't help you now."

His eyes flashed black. 

And you felt something very hard smash into the back of your head.


	12. Chairs, Ropes, and World Incineration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been abducted by some demons! *cue dramatic music* oh no! What ever will happen to our dearest darling ______, the heroine of this fanfic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I detest 16 year old me. God. And I thought this was scary?

You woke slowly, and in stages. At first you noticed you were lashed into the arms and legs of a very uncomfortable steel chair. Then you felt the darkness of the place you were tied up; cold and sticky like the blood you could feel on the back of your neck from where you'd been hit. 

It was night now. Sweet chilli sauce, you hoped the Winchester's would come and get you. But it was surely a trap. It was always a trap. 

Then you saw where you were. A derelict, rundown house in the middle of the woods, paint peeling and floorboards as creaky as the joints of an elderly person. 

You went to scream, but found you were gagged. And the cloth tasted disgusting.

You heard the voices then, and failed to listen in on the conversation. Ever since the Winchesters had gotten Azazel and let out all those goddamned demons.

You had to admit, that was about the one stuff up they had done so far that would potentially harm the world. 

"She's awake."

You stilled. But your heartbeat raced. 

"She's afraid. I thought she was a hunter like the rest of them. Oh, she's so small!" The demon who had lured you out cooed, and all you felt like doing then was ganking the bastard. "Hmm. Now we've got her..."

You squirmed, and watched the second demon come into your sights. She was taller and more proportioned than you in the departments that the opposite sex usually were into, and you wished you were able to yell something, any profanities. 

But the taste of the gag was honestly putrid. 

"She's not liking what we put on that cloth," the female demon laughed, "it's just adorable seeing these unable creatures suffer - nothing they can do about it."

But you could do something. You'd read it in one of Bobby's books when you had been cooped up in his house as well as baking those pies. A ritual or something. You'd put it to memory. 

"Dean and Sam Winchester will be here to save your ass anytime now,"the first demon absentmindedly patted down his mop of hair, smearing the coat of blood across his forehead. "A trap."

You nodded, giving the demons kudos for being able to think up this sort of stuff. 

Stupid, stupid, you scalded yourself, you were completely and utterly stupid for going all Hansel and Gretel on the footprints. You were queen stupid. 

"But we can't give you back to the boys looking like you'd just been to a rough district, no, it's got to look like its been an adventure," the female grinned her unbearably sharp and gleaming pearly whites. 

And at once, you felt the gag released and the side of a blade dragged across your skin. 

Your screams filled the dirty and broken cabin and the world beyond. 

"Why?" you screamed through the pain. God, they must had put something on the blade, it stung like hell, and you could take more than that usually. "Why are you doing this?"

The male demon lowered his head to become level with yours. "World incineration." He laughed. "Survival of the fittest, bitch."


	13. Broken Outside, Crumbling Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHO YOU GON CALL?
> 
> WIN-CHESTAS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *glares upward* Time for a rescue plan, amirite?

You faded in and out of consciousness with every awful thing they did to you. It was just ... words couldn't describe the pain, the burning sensation all over, the dull headache turning into a sweeping wave of agony inside the mind.

You didn't know how long you'd been awake. Or since you'd been abducted. Or how long you'd been in the company of two plotting, murderous demons.

You didn't know if Sam and Dean would be looking for you. If they knew you were missing, even.

You didn't know how long it would take to be rescued. Rescued. A week or two ago you'd have barred that option out and gritted your teeth and never took help from a stranger - you were a hunter, a female hunter, it was almost unbearable to deal with the sexism around your job title at The Road House (unless Jo was home, then you were half-okay).

Rescued.

You must had said that aloud through the disgusting gag, because the next thing you heard was, "not gonna happen, darlin'," the male demon barked. His snarl was almost inhuman. It made you want to shrink into the chair you were bound to and cry, like the snivelling three year old torture made you.

"Hey!" You heard a voice pierce the thin consciousness you had, "Dickbag!"

You watched as two men barged through the house, and watched in almost slow motion the commotion that took place. The smaller of the two, green eyes alive and bright, had a relatively small handgun tucked into his waistband, and the taller, a massive flagon of a clear substance.

And as soon as they appeared to be there, you felt a wave of the cold water wash over your entire body, stinging as it got into the little - and large - cuts and slices they had given you. But what got you to stay awake was the sound of the sizzling of flesh and you saw the demons beside you snarling, about to protest something nasty would come for these two people, the taller of the two ... you remembered his name, Sam, Sam Winchester ... pulled an ugly old book from his back pocket and began to chant in a language you weren't able to understand at all.

Latin. That's what it was. The dead language.

"______?" You heard someone call out, and you opened your eyes just wide enough with the throbbing inside of you and outside of you to see it was the shorter of the two men, and that he was rushing to you, "dammit, _______, this is why we didn't want to bring you on this case," you heard him murmur as he slid a knife under the ropes that bound you and undid the gag.

Once your mouth was freed you managed to speak, though your throat was dry and rasped like sandpaper. "D-dean?" You whispered hoarsely. "Don't..." You took a deep breath, "don't send me back to Bobby's. He'll... tear shreds off...me."

From the other side of the room you heard the screams of the possessed people and the evaporation of the demons.

You felt your body picked up, a crumbled version of the bridal style position in his arms, and felt yourself fall into the hands of the darkness. It was a nice change to the noise, that horrible tribunal that you had been through.

You deserved a little rest.

"Don't fall asleep, no, no, no," you heard Dean say, and you jolted awake suddenly. At that you stared into his eyes and almost fell within their orb like boundaries and you gasped. "______, stay with me."

You wanted to fall asleep, but you couldn't. Not while he had captured in his gaze.

"Dean, get ______ out of here," you heard Sam order, and you felt your body jostled by Dean and moving, you ached to fall asleep.

"Don't go," you croaked to Dean, staring up into his eyes. The rest of the world was fuzzy, increasingly blurry, but Dean was the focal point, the constant factor.

"I won't, I promise," he agreed, "just don't fall asleep."

You nodded, and time blurred together - and suddenly you felt yourself lowered into the backseat of the Impala, and head resting in the lap of Dean. The engine roared, and the voice of Sam Winchester came from the driver's spot, asking something about which hospital and whether or not you were going to be okay for two miles.

"Dean, I'm not going to die," you announced, focusing on his concerned frown as it loomed over your face.

"How are you so sure?" He asked, and you weren't absolutely 100% sure if he was smiling or not, amused or serious.

You have a huff, a laugh you wished you could have fleshed out into a proper giggle but couldn't have because from what those demons did to you, especially to your stomach.

"I'm not going to die looking like this, it's pathetic," you coughed, "and not my style," you frowned. "And never, ever will I die without you in the front seat. Just ... just wouldn't be right."

You heard a chuckle from the front seat, and saw a smile crawl onto the face of Dean Winchester.

"That's what I like about you, ______. You got priorities."


	14. Carry On...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that reader has her priorities straight, not dying dramatically in the Winchester's car, there's the question of: where will she be dying?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE! Nobody's dying today. *puts shades over my glasses* Not on my watch

You opened your eyes to the best of your ability to see white. Everywhere. Your heart sped up - no, you couldn't have died, you promised yourself not to, you said to Dean you weren't going to die - but then your eyes focused, and saw the walls and the line where the crisp linoleum met them. You heard the throbbing beat of a machine nearby, its beep, beep, beep hooking itself in your mind. 

Then you realised where you were. 

A hospital. 

You became aware of the many patches and bandages over your arms and legs and torso, the IVs and other tubes, and the man who sat at the end of the bed, his face planted into the sheets by your toes, asleep. 

Dean. God, you thought. You were into him. A lot. Really, for a hunter whose life had to be cut away from everyone, you shouldn't have joined their hunt.

You were into him and it was too late to back out.

He looked so vulnerable, sleeping; like a small blondish bear. His shoulders rose and fell to the beeping of the monitor on your heart, and you just wanted him to sleep. As nice as it would be to have him look up with those huge green eyes and melt you inside out like butter in a microwave, you knew he needed to sleep. He probably hadn't slept properly for days before. 

But he stirred anyway. 

You did your best to make it seem like you hadn't been staring at him, and suddenly became very interested in a bunch of violets on the beside which had a note attached that read you're awesome don't feel blue about it in a very jagged set of handwriting. 

Don't feel blue, it said. And purple flowers, almost blue. 

"You're awake, _______," he mumbled, and you made yourself look to his literal perfection. "Why didn't you wake me? I've got to keep watch, you're in no way to fight at the moment."

You nod. "I can see," you poke the skin near where the IV is and wince, "this is no fair. I'm supposed to be tough."

He gave a laugh, and ran a hand through his hair. "Didn't anyone tell you? It's all tough. You just got to soldier on."

You nodded. Bobby told you that once. After your parents had kicked the bucket along with your baby brother. It was a ghost possession, a really pissed off one which got family to turn on and kill the family until they were all gone. You'd been lucky, and out of town for the most of it - but came home to gore, and Bobby Singer and a bunch of other hunters, Ellen, Ash burning bones of a body in the backyard. 

It was a shock, and came with a life dedicated to smoking up those anomalies. 

"_______?" you heard Dean call, "you okay?"

You didn't move. "Tough," you repeat. "That's what my family went through. That's what every possessed person had ever gone through. Tough." You look to him. Meeting his eyes. "I don't want it tough, Dean, I just want to slay the creatures and go home happy."

He let the frown he had acquired slide from his face and his lips part. "_______, it doesn't work like that -," 

You rolled your eyes and averted them to the drip you were attached to so he wouldn't be privy to the look you had in your (e/c) eyes.  
"When do I get released?" you ask. 

"Next week. A Friday if you're all good to go." You nodded, still looking away from him, depriving yourself of the sight he was to your very, very sore eyes. You felt a hand brush against your skin and your eyes flittered to Dean, wide. You were suddenly aware of everything around you - the dog barking outside on the lower levels, the rising beep beep beep of the heart rate monitoring, the sensation of Dean's hand against yours, the crisp, clean smell of the air in the hospital. You saw him frown, his own eyes seeing the monitor's increased rate. "Are you okay? Is that me...doing that?"

You nod. A blush takes your face over like a civil war fought independently on your territory and you lower your head. 

Way to make yourself a target as weak and non-independent and not hunter material. 

"Can I," you saw Dean from the corner of your eye reach over the white-blue hospital gurney, his body slow like in a movie frame, and you nodded.

What happened in the diner the first time didn't matter. 

What happened in Dean's Impala when Sam was occupied - it didn't matter. 

It didn't matter that you and he had bickered at Bobby's and before you'd been abducted and it didn't matter that you'd been absolutely unlike yourself and let someone in. All of these thoughts came in one rush like downing a packet of popping candy in one go and suddenly you felt yourself looking up to see Dean right there in front of you, and His lips were on your forehead. 

It was like being earthed, not floating around like a little helium balloon anymore. 

"Was that okay? Did those demonic sons of bitches hurt you there?"

You slowly shook your head, but that was a lie in sorts. They hurt you everywhere. In and outside your mind. But Dean - he stopped that. Like a salve on an open wound. You were better. For now. 

"Just one question," you whispered as he pulled his face from yours, "why didn't you give me a kiss..." you felt you're face redden at the thought of what you were trying to say, "...on the lips?" 

He gave a laugh. "Didn't want to steal your breath, sunshine. The doctor's would kill me if you keeled over." 

You smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love venting about my crap pubescent writings in these notes. Does anyone read them? Probs not, but it's awesome!


	15. ...My Wayward Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospital fluff and general filler chapter!

You spent the next week in the hospital being frowned on by doctors, interrogated by the local police department - " _how do you just slip and fall in the woods and get...cut up everywhere?_ ", said a suspicious deputy - but luckily the boys were there to back you up, especially Dean.

Since the kiss, he had partially dropped the facade of being stronger than he was and you had opened up to him. Sam had come into the scene after the kiss, and understood what was going on.

It was nice having someone there.

And along came the day to check out of the hospital, and you weren't in those cut up and soiled clothes you were admitted in; you wore a spare flannel Sam had and a pair of sweatpants of Dean's that you swam in. The nurses didn't pay mind as you walked out, and as soon as you made it out of the building you turned to Dean, the Impala parked on the verge nearby.

"I'm so sorry I ruined your hunt," you kept your face down, ashamed of being the reason they couldn't have gotten it done.

Sam gave a snort. "Ruined? No, that hunt, it's done, ______."

You turned to Dean, curious, unsure of what was going on. "Is this true?"

He nodded. "Those demons who got you - they had a habit of stealing women and ... doing things to them." You kept your gaze on Dean, trying to see if he was telling the truth. "Turns out, we got them."

"Two birds, one stone," Sam agrees, awfully sage-like.

You just nod; they hadn't thought to tell you this, but you wouldn't get angry, no. Sam and Dean were going to drive back to Bobby's house and you needed to keep your 'cool'.

"So, you're not mad?" Dean asked.

You shrug. "Maybe later, I don't know. It'll come back and bite you."

You and the boys got into car, relaxing into the gorgeous backseat, glad it wasn't another uncomfortable hospital bed. The engine roared to life and like the blacktop under the wheels, time sped by.

Your eyes drooped, and you fell asleep.

 

 

_"You will never have happiness with the eldest Winchester," a voice spoke to you, a masculine voice. You turned around trying to find where the person was, but found that you were alone in a house with a scorched ceiling above your head. "He is fated for a life without you. He will move on."_

_"Who are you?" you questioned, looking about the scene. "Just why - why is this happening?"_

_You heard a sigh and saw a man, with a scruffy beard walk into the room, wearing a rug-like poncho and an unsure smile on his face._

_"I have other plans for you."_

_You frowned. "God? Really? I'm dreaming - after all you did to my family, all those other people," you paused, averting your eyes from the man before you, "I hope to yourself your plans don't kill everyone I love."_

_He shook his head. "Dean's going to hell, _____, and you need to move on. The apocalypse is coming. Sit tight."_

_You shook your head,_ yeah right _, you thought, no reason to believe a dream._

_"So don't do anything stupid." he concluded._

_"I thought you planned everything," you retorted, and turned to walk away. But you fell, into a large hole that you hadn't seen and the air whooshed past you face like on a roller coaster without seat belts and you felt the floor coming faster than you could possibly imagine, you were about to hit it, and_

 

 

 

"Wake up, _______, we're at Bobby's," you tentatively opened your eyes to see Dean before you, smile wide on his face. "C'mon, time to face the music."

You groaned, stretching. "Whoa, I just slept the whole way, didn't I?"

Dean nodded. "Dream of anything, sweetheart?"

You hesitated. "Not sure," you reply, "it's all blurry in my memory now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh this sucks!  
> Hope you're enjoying this!


	16. I Want To Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THUNDERSTORM FLUFF FILLER CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAY TO GO 16 YEAR OLD SUSIE THIS IS A+ FIC CLICHE I'M SURE SOME PEOPLE MAY LIKE

You did remember a bit of the dream. You just weren't going to tell. And Bobby invited you back with open arms and a gruff roll of his eyes and smirk from underneath that beard of his but nonetheless you were in the fold again. A patten emerged; Dean would make a show of affection - usually by picking a weed or flower from outside and present it to you - and you'd accept it, and made sure not to get it squished in the thousands of books Bobby had around. 

You hadn't actually admitted you were in love with him, really. And all Dean Winchester was doing was being a gentleman, in your opinion. A really hot, leather-wearing Impala-driving gentleman. 

Then came a Thursday night when you had been curled in the bed upstairs, asleep, only to be woken by the thrumming, ear-drum splitting sound of gunshots. You were a hunter, you should have been okay with the noise but you choked back tears and grabbed for the weapon under the bed. 

A knife. 

The noises happened again, and shrieking, you tossed yourself from the bed and under the window, to peek outside. It happened again. Followed by a thread of light zigzagged across the sky, arching like a dangerous dancer, and you choked back tears.   
Thunder and lightning. 

"_______, are you okay?" You heard a voice come from the doorway of your room, seeing Dean Winchester's silhouette. You swallowed what saliva had built up in your mouth, and shook your head. 

"I'm trying to be," you replied. "I hate thunder." 

He nodded, and you could see Dean crossing the room to get to you. "Don't have to always be brave, _______," he frowned, and you watched as he took a seat beside you, on the floor under the window. "Yeah, sometimes you need to let someone protect you."

Another round of lightning and thunder came, and you shuddered. Feeling arms wrap around your waist, you smelt the warmth of the eldest Winchester full your noise and calm yourself. 

"What about you?" you asked. "Protecting me, who protects you?"

You felt the shrug of his head and a small laugh, "consider it taken care of, ______, it's just going to be okay, I can promise you that."

You relaxed into his side, head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat and almost being him. 

"You're famed as a womaniser," you whispered to him. 

"You're famed as unafraid," Dean murmured back, "of anything."

"Truce?" you breathed. 

"Truce." he smiled. 

A clap of thunder, much louder than the others boomed across the sky. You shuddered, feeling seven years old again, and faced Dean, burying your face in his neck. You felt his hands clutching your back to him, like a child, and you wished for a second that it would always be like this. 

Him holding you. Not thunderstorms, oh, no, never thunderstorms. 

"I kind of like you a lot," you whispered into his neck, still trembling from the noises. "Like, as in not as friends."

You were answered by silence. Then, "I - I like you too, _____, it's just ... I won't be here much longer. I've made a reservation and I need to pay the fine."

You withdrew yourself, and from the light of the oddly silent lightning you searched Dean Winchester's face. This couldn't possibly be what that dream was about. But it was. You knew it inside. Deep inside, in the pit of the stomach. 

"Tell me everything," you pleaded. "I want understand ... this hasn't got anything to do with Yellow-eyes, has it?"

 

You woke the next morning curled around Dean on the floor underneath the window of your bedroom, mind buzzing from the dreams fuelled by what he had confessed to you.   
The deal with the demon. Sam was alive because of that and Dean - 

The dream was right.

You looked to the man laying on the floor beside you, his short blonde hair a mess and face relaxed by sleep. You'd never know from a look that he was going to hell in just a few weeks. 

"I love you, Dean Winchester," you whispered, looking at him. "Huh, of all the people I could fall for, I get you. And I - I don't mind. I'll always be there for you. Always."

You turned to your wallet on the beside table and took a photo out from the side; one of you a few weeks ago. You looked tranquil. Dean would need that. And you put it in his hand, and gathered your escape bag, and walked out the front door. 

You heard shouts - not loud, and you turned. Sam Winchester was following you. 

"You can't go," he pleaded. "We need you, Bobby needs you ... Dean needs you."

You gazed into the eyes of the younger Winchester and shook your head. "I had a dream that I wasn't supposed to be here anymore, Sam," you whisper-yelled at Sam, "I was told last night by your brother that he's got a place in hell reserved just for him. And I've been told not to be here. You're looking for Lilith, aren't you?" 

You saw Sam nod. "Yeah, we've got leads ... "

You tightened the grip on your bag and gave a grim smile. "I need to go." You turned and started walking for the road. 

"______!" Sam exclaimed, and you felt a hand on your shoulder. "Who told you not to be here anymore? Who - who does that kind of stuff?" 

You shrugged. "In my dream, he was God." You gave the younger Winchester a wry smile. "Tell me when Dean goes, please. You can always contact me if you need stuff on a hunt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I just really regret thinking I was the cats pajamas at 16


	17. Too Damn Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there such a thing as being too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's THAT episode. You know which one I'm talking about (if you don't just read this and you'll remember THE FEELS)

Leaving Dean was the wort decision of your life. Even more worse than becoming a hunter. He was everything; and without him, you were just you again. Weeds on the side of the road were just weeds, and rock music was just noise without him nodding his head to the tune and belting out the lyrics. Food was food, and pie was something you didn't eat unless you wanted to remember that you had left a man destined for hell on his own. 

You, in your eyes, were disgraceful. It didn't matter what the dream had told you - you were at fault. It was all on you.

You kept an eye on the days like a prepubescent teen counting down the days until high school. 

You woke every morning in a different motel, working odd cases everywhere - a werewolf attack in Atlanta, ghost possession in Idaho, a hoodoo priest in Pennsylvania. 

And you counted down Dean's days. 

He'd hate you. You hates yourself for what you did. Nobody needed to be walked out on like that. 

And it was on the day before Dean was sentenced to go to hell when you booked a flight on a fast plane to where Bobby said they'd be, hoping that you could give him one last kiss. He needed to be strong, and you did too. But if God destined yourself and Dean to be apart, you wondered, how was it you were returning? 

A holy plot twist, maybe?

And as soon as the plane touched down you were running, hailing a cab and reciting the address you'd drilled into your mind on the flight over and over again to not feel sick and you were off. 

Damn, you thought, I hope to get there in time.

Your legs were tingling with adrenaline and suddenly you couldn't see - and you realised that you had been crying silent salty tears and you also realised that if Dean went to hell there was no coming back. Miracles only happened in the hospital and bible passages, you heard a hunter say years ago. 

You hoped to whoever was privy to your thoughts that it wasn't true. 

"That'll be ..." The driver ordered and you paid the fare with a smile. 

"Thanks," you smiled, and bolted. 

You were in the right street; you could see the darling Impala at the end, and you looked at the houses, too perfect and expensive to be anything else. 

It was then you saw figures emerging from the shadows, humans. You stilled, trying to hide the gun you had just almost pulled out from the secret place it had been hidden but then you saw their eyes. 

Black. As the Pit itself. 

You counted the figures and it came to you that there were more than a hundred possessed humans in the area. Too many to possibly exorcise and trick into a demon trap.  
You swore violently under your breath - the elder Winchester had rubbed off on you - and walked toward the house which you had memorised the address of. Where all those demons were headed toward, protecting it with a barrier made by themselves. 

You walked in calmly inside, and followed the sounds of the shouting until you found out the position of all the boys. 

A blonde girl, your age, was grimly shaking her head, and you saw Dean and Sam standing in the middle of the circle on the floor. 

"Dean!" you yelled. 

You saw his green eyes find yours and widen. "______?" you heard through the door. 

You watched as the blonde looked you over and quickly opened the door to let you in. "Who's she?" you asked. 

To which Sam replied, "Ruby. An ally."

You nodded, and looked back to Dean. "I'm sorry. Don't forgive me, I'm such a dickbag," you pleaded, "I just needed to make sure you got this."

And you kissed him. 

You grabbed his head and attached your lips to his, and after a second he kissed back, his hands wrapping themselves around your body. As if made for each other. You lowered your hands to cradle his shoulders, and as you broke away you whispered in his ear, "it'll be fine, Dean, don't worry. I'll always love you."

You closed your eyes and felt tears again. 

"Don't cry," Dean whispered to you. "It'll be okay, I promise. Find yourself a guy, settle down. Have kids. Leave this life. You deserve it."

You hiccuped through your tears, "you deserve not to go to hell, Dean, I love you."

The clock struck midnight. 

"I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy," Ruby said grimly and you could see the fear lit up on Dean's face. 

"Don't watch this," he told you. "I'm going now."

You shook your head. "No," you whispered, "no, no, no, this is - no!"

You heard Dean order Sam to hold you back and get you to look away. You thrashed and kicked in Sam'a grip, and you turned your just to see Dean's shirt and flesh tear with claw shaped rips. 

"No!" You screamed. "No!"

"I'll be fine," Dean managed to say. 

And he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up with Kudos if u cri every time


	18. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TIME FOR ANGST KIDLETS

You didn't talk to Sam Winchester since the passing of his brother, not even Bobby who worried for you more than anything, after the funeral. You didn't speak to anyone, period.

You didn't quit the business, though.

You targeted all sorts of demons in the dark months that followed Dean Winchester's death, exorcism after exorcism, sending them back to hell. You cried your heart out every night. You drank vodka from the bottle in the confinement of whatever hotel room you'd holed yourself up in for the night and at one point, sick of all the men hitting on you, you used a fake credit card to buy an engagement ring to ward them off.

In your opinion, friend-zoned men were worse than possessed men.

And it was on a Wednesday almost four months after Dean had been put underground and chained in the depths of hell when you woke at one in the morning sweating from a horrifying real nightmare.

 

 

The sky was hot, so large and the yellow sun bore into the sparse growth of the desert scene, the grasses hot to touch. You stood away as of watching from a distance the setting unfold like an intricate origami piece and you kept still.

You somehow knew you were waiting for something.

And all at once, slowly at the same time, you heard a cry, a yell, and saw the dirt before the small cross dug into the ground shake. Something was coming out. The grave was opening. You watching in silenced horror as a hand burst through from the earth, followed by another. And a head.

The head of Dean Winchester.

He didn't look like he had died months before; he looked new. He looked absolutely new. His green eyes were alight with fright and you wanted to comfort him and rush to him and ask what was happening - this was a damnably good nightmare, compared to all those you'd survived through in the months previous - but you couldn't. Your feet were glued to the burning heat of the open area.

You watched as he hauled himself from the earth, and brushing off the dirt that had congealed to his taut skin, you saw the fear in them.

He knew he had been dead.

"_______?" You heard him ask, incredulous, "this is too good to be a dream."

 

 

You had seen Dean rise from the grave you had tossed dirt onto. Gasping for breath, face red, unsure of what was happening.

No. Dean was dead. Just another night terror to be overlooked. But before you could convince yourself anymore, you threw yourself into a freezing shower and packing your things into the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo was that too much angst? nah. 16 year old Susie wrote this, she knew best in 2014.


	19. Dreams of Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's up with this plot, eyy?

You didn't know what to do so you went straight to Sam Winchester. Driving through the night you made it to a little motel he had gotten into, and looking like literal hell personified you found yourself standing outside the door to his room like a stupid person.

"______?" you heard the younger Winchester say as the creaky door in dire need of a paint job was opened to reveal him. "What brings you here?"

You felt dizzy, almost, and swaying, you said to Sam, "you know weird, don't you?" As he nodded, you remembered the catastrophes with Yellow Eyes that Sam had been through, you continued, "Well ... I had a dream. A horrible dream; a nightmare, where it was really hot and midday and where we buried Dean and Dean rose out of the ground, from the grave, and he wasn't dead, Sam, and -," you paused, sighing because you had heard how strange you sounded. "I needed to talk to someone who wouldn't diagnose me as crazy and shut me into a metal institution."

You heard a laugh, and realised it was Sam. "All this time, and you have a little dream that makes you sad? And you come to me?"

"Be mad all you like," you replied. "You have all the reason to be." You shrugged, and added "And Sam, Bobby'd strike me down like Zeus if I went to him. And all the other hunters don't really do 'feelings'."

Sam smiled. "Come in anyway, you look like you need a place to stay. For old times sake."

Grateful, you took the couch and not even after any more than two minutes, you were out of it. A perfect sleep.

The first in many, many months.

 

 

You woke to hear cuss words and stern voices, all in a masculine undertone. Slowly, you almost peeled your eyelids open to see the scene Sam had gotten himself into.

But you froze in some emotion you didn't recognise. It was a mix of fear and trepidation in your stomach, gluing your body to the couch.

It wasn't that much of a sight, despite him supposed to be dead; Dean Winchester was arguing with his little brother.

"You're not a ghoul, or a demon, or a shapeshifter ..." Sam thought aloud. "How are you here?"

You listened intently. "... I just came out of the earth. Middle of day, and I heard this goddamned loud noise, like a scream, but it shattered everything ..."

You whimpered. What you had dreamed was correct. And, like what Sam Winchester had discovered from experience, being different in the hunting business wasn't an option.

"You - look what you've done, you woke _____!" Sam griped.

"______? She's -?"

"On the couch. Nice going, Jerk."

"Bitch." You almost heard the smile on his face. "______," you heard him call out to you, and you rolled over slowly as of to face him, with your face lowered. "_______, it's Dean."

You raised your face and found you were almost touching, with the proximity he had between you. Your eyes widened slowly and you moved away.

No. He couldn't be alive. But that dream is what he just described. Dreams don't come true. But he's right in front of you.

"The dream was right," you whispered, still dumbfounded. "You're - out."


	20. Constant Figure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's back? Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?  
> Also more dreams? What the frick is up?

"I'm crazy," you whisper. "Dreaming up these things."

But he was right in front of you. Breathing. Speaking. Questioning his own sanity, let alone yours; and he was the one to have managed to have gotten out of hell.

"I'm real," he whispered. "I'm so glad you're not dead," he continued, and saw the ring on your finger. "You managed to settle down, then?"

You woke out of the small daydream and shook your head. "No, I never got over you, how can you? You just died in front of me." You gave a sort of snort, and snatching the ring from your left hand, you pitched the thin under-decorated golden band across the room. "No. That was for creeps. I forgot how many of them are out there."

Dean nodded slowly, swallowing. You could see he was sorry for being dragged into hell. It wasn't his fault. You didn't blame him. You didn't blame anyone but the dream that had made you leave him in the first place.

From the corner of your eye you saw Sam made a just kiss already face, and add, "we need to go to Bobby. He'd know a bit on ... whatever is happening."

Dean nodded. "I agree, Sammy."

You nodded too. "I can't agree any more."

 

 

Only a few hours after getting to Bobby's, you felt a horrible headache echo through your skull, leaving you breathless and dizzied. The boys were still doing their research, and you quietly excused yourself to go and down the standard dosage of headache medicine and crash on the sofa to try to relieve your head.

But if anything, all it did was hurt more. You clutched your head in your hands and moaned over and over again with the pain, and suddenly it became just downright hellish.

You have a scream, but when you opened your eyes - you weren't looking at the living room of Bobby Singer's house. No.

Your eyes saw an industrial sized shed. And a scene inside.

 

 

There was Bobby and Dean and yourself handing in the shed, all armed with the guns, Ruby's knife, waiting for an answer, for someone to turn up. Time passed, and suddenly the lights started shaking and the shutters trembling. You turned to the doors to see a man wearing a trench coat open them with his bare hands and with the lights breaking above him, you watched as the man came to where you, Bobby and Dean stood.

You looked to the man, with the tan trench coat and the backwards blue tie and observed that with a touch he reduced Bobby to a sleep on the floor. You bent to see if Bobby was alright, missing most of the interchange between Dean and the man, "My name is Castiel," the guy introduced, his voice was almost unnaturally deep. "I am an angel of The Lord."

You kept your eyes on Castiel, trying to figure out something that didn't compute.

"I am the one who raised you up and saved from perdition."

 

 

"_______! Wake up! Come on, wake up!" you heard someone whispering forcefully in your ear. You cringed, and writhed away from the voice. "Son of a bitch, you scared me, ______, you were screaming and twitching -,"

You frowned. "Angels, Dean," you whispered. "Angels. I just saw them, in another dream ... this one angel, he -," you paused, realising what you were saying. "I'm crazy. Nobody should be able to see what's going to happen in the future."

You had squeezed your eyes shut in the middle if your speech to hear a soft laugh. It frightened you more than anything - who laughed anymore these days - and you looked to see Dean smiling. In amongst everything that was going on, he was a constant figure. Unmoving. Easy to understand. Always there.

"We'll figure you out," he promised. "I just hope you don't have any more of those headaches."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively, if you're on tumblr, maybe go find & follow my fandom blog @casstielnovak. Trust me. It's my pride and joy


	21. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all that happened, the last thing you really want is Dean leaving you again.

You stuck by Dean's side like glue, and neither of you were upset about the arrangement. And it came that the events of the dream you saw occurred, just like it had been.

The anticipation, the glances between each other, the sound of Bobby's unsure grumblings, the door opening and the trench coated man stepping through. You watched as the man touched Bobby's face, and the guy fell to the floor. And when the man spoke, announcing he was an angel and took Dean out of hell you gasped.

You didn't want to believe in angels and demons and monsters under the bed and things that went bump in the night. You didn't want to believe in anything, really, except you had to. You killed it every other day, you were a hunter.

"_______," Dean had told you, "stand up. We're leaving."

You agreed. And with the help of Dean, you dragged Bobby out of the warehouse and into the Impala.

Now, a week later you sat by yourself, studying your very badly cared for finely cut and dirty fingernails. You weren't one to care about that sort of thing usually but the sight made you want to just fix them up. You weren't bored, really, just needed to keep your mind off the things of late.

Sam Winchester was acting stranger, hanging out with the demon girl more often.

The angel Castiel kept popping in and out of the Winchester's lives.

And you were mildly worried about your fingernails. And the fact the painful skull splitting headaches hadn't cleared up. Same as the dreams.

You hadn't gone as far as to get a brain scan at a hospital for the fits, but it was tempting to see if what was happening to you had a logical side to it. If.

"You're thinking too hard." The familiar voice of Dean Winchester accused you.

"I'm sure it's a nightmare for all the telepaths," you responded, turning to see the man who cared for you as much as you cared about him. "But I can't stop, Dean, something's going on in here," you tapped your head, "and I don't like it."

He nodded, taking a seat beside you. "I can tell. But it'll be okay."

You frowned. "The world seems to be on the way to the end, angels are appearing from nowhere to give you missions, your brother -," you paused, and kept going on, "I don't think it'll be okay."

Dean gave a laugh. "That's the thing, ______," his green eyes saw into your soul and you melted where you sat. "I didn't say what would be okay. And I mean us. We'll pull through. Count on that."

You nodded.

"You look so adorably cute when you're determined," you broke out a smile, and put your face to his shoulder. "I wouldn't mind if we kissed now, by the way."

You felt Dean chuckle and heard him respond, "I wouldn't mind, either."

You lifted your lips to his, and under your breath, before your lips touched, you whispered, "stay with me."

There wasn't a pause. In that moment all of the pauses in the world vanished into thin air taking the awkward moments alongside it.

You smiled.

To which Dean Winchester responded, "Forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the fic!


	22. Stress...And Pregnancy Tests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and you had a great time last chapter! Maybe it isn't your imagination but there's something off about your period. That it's...off? Full stop. Maybe you should have listened to that sex-ed teacher from Mean Girls.

It was three weeks since the time Dean had sat with you when you had been concerned about your fingernails and the fate of the entire world - since, Lucifer had come out of the cage - and you had started feeling sick inside almost everyday.

...you'd always used protection with Dean. Always. But that night, things could have been blurry...

You weren't sure of what to do. So you asked for the one thing that all those physical health education classes had warned and taught the girls about.

A pregnancy test.

No harm in taking a test. If nothing happened, life would go on. And if it was positive...maybe Dean wouldn't freak out. He'd started calling you weird pet names, such as Sugar, Sunshine, Cutie pie, and he'd been a little more intimate with you lately, so maybe he would be fine with another Winchester.

You dressed for comfort and made your way downstairs to see Dean and Sam and Bobby bickering about the latest development of Lucifer out of the cage, who was after Sam.

"Hi," you echoed in their argument.

The boys all stilled to look at you. Since Dean came back you hadn't really been on any huts, majorly because of the angels on the loose doing what 'daddy says' and the want to stay near Dean.

"Pumpkin," Dean whispered, coming over to you, "what do you need?"

You swallowed. "A ride into town. I've got a list of things I need."

Dean nodded, and grabbed his keys. He turned to his brother and Bobby and announced he was taking me out, much to their disappointment.

You hopped into the passenger seat, and when Dean asked where you wanted to go you requested to go to a supermarket. It would draw the suspicion away from if you walked into a pharmacy.

The Impala pulled into a spot, and as you came out from the car, you heard his car door slam shut.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait in the car?" you asked.

He shrugged, his leather jacket creaking. "It's not really that safe anymore, cutie pie," he came over to you, and took your hand. "I'm going to do my best to take good care of you."

You smiled. "Alright then, 'no chick flick moments'," you grumbled with a smile, quoting what Dean said often enough, "lets get this over and done with."

He nodded. "Let's."

You grabbed a basket from the entrance to the store and tossed things that could be essential in. When you came to the personal care section you were glad to see Dean caught up with a packet of tooth floss.

You tossed the test into the basket without a second glance.

"Who even flosses, these days?" he frowned. "Fairies or something?"

You playfully punched his arm and led him to the checkout, holding his strong hand in yours. As you made it to the counter you turned to your boyfriend and said the magic words that apparently all men wished to hear while shopping: "I'll be only five minutes through here if you want to wait in the car, Dean."

But he shook his head. "You know what's happening now the cage is -,"

"Hello, welcome to CheapR Everyday," the cashier said un-cheerfully, scanning the things through. 

As you saw her pick up the pregnancy test you grabbed Dean by the shoulders and gave him the most unplanned improvised kiss you'd ever given in your life. As your faces collided you grabbed at the back of his head, and he at your hips. As you broke free of the kiss you heard Dean gasp for air. 

"That was nice," he winked at you. 

You grinned. "I take pride in the many skills I have."

As Dean payed on a fake credit card you grabbed the receipt and bag and charged to the Impala. 

You sat in the passenger seat, knees against the chest and watched as Dean hopped into the car. "Pity one of those skills isn't telling me you got a pregnancy test," he gunned the engine and started off. 

"Well, yeah." You felt your lip wobble with the stupidity that you were filled with - you could slay vampires without blinking but you couldn't have hidden the test from him. "Congrats, Dean," you whispered. You found it was impossible to speak normally. "It's yours. And I hope you don't abandon me."

He gave you a puzzled side glance. "Abandon?" he repeated. "What, like my dad? No way." You gave your boyfriend a long hard look. And at that moment you couldn't see one speck of John Winchester in him.

"Really?" 

"Really." You nodded silently, "And I'm happy, ________. Really happy. I just don't want to raise a kid into this life."

You let out a shaky "yes" to agree with him. "You're taking this better than I thought," you mused. 

Dean Winchester nodded as he pulled into the driveway. "I just want to do it right."

You put a hand on Dean's. "You'll always do your best."


	23. The Shocking Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you know, there's seven chapters to go, and I've tagged the story 'plot twists'. Take a kind, children. Take a hint.

Positive.

You were happy. Dean was happy. Bobby and Sam and almost everyone else was happy.

Happy for the baby. But with Lucifer out of the cage and seeking Sam it had made the situation a lot worse than just a baby inside and the yelling and the arguments got to you worse than the morning sickness.

It spun your head more than a fairground ride and that was why you'd asked - politely - if you could have had the room that Bobby had built underneath, the panic room.

It had been a yes for you to sleep in the panic room.

And you slept in the demon-proof iron room. Months passed by, and after Sam fell into the pit with the other brother, Adam Milligan, Dean hadn't been the same. Your stomach stretched, and you watched silently as the elder Winchester fell to pieces in front of your eyes.

Castiel didn't turn up after that.

Dean got out of that life, and took you away from it all. He had found a small house in California for the pair of you and though he did the sweetest of things to you when you couldn't do them anymore, like open doors and kiss you on the forehead when you weren't expecting it, you knew your boyfriend was hiding his feelings.

You tried your best to be there and open for him, but you knew what the loss of his brother did to him.

The headaches still were around and you didn't say anything about them. Sometimes they got so bad you threw up. And when Dean asked about it you didn't want to trouble him with the idea you were still breaking from the inside out so you kept it hushed.

And eight months in on the pregnancy you decided - Dean was out on business for the company he worked for nowadays - to take a walk. Just down the road.

The day was fading into night and the street was mostly empty and you counted as the streetlights lit up one by one as you slowly strolled. The shocking silence of the world around you made your arms shiver - you wished you'd brought a coat - and then you saw him.

The man who had come to you in your first dream. God.

"These things happen," he spoke up to you, "when you don't stay away from Dean Winchester."

You bit your lip, and winced as you tasted blood. "We're happy," you whispered as the scruffy looking man walked toward you.

"Are you? You're a prophet, ______, and he deserves to know that you're still getting the headaches and visions." You watched him quietly. You'd imagined God to be older, beard a little bit bigger...like Santa Claus sans the red outfit. "And I see you're carrying his child."

You turned to make your way back to the house. "Shouldn't you know by now? You're God."

You heard a laugh, and the crunch of loose tarmac underneath shoes. He had caught up with you. "And you should wake up now."

You turned to ask him what was happening, but found your words to be too slow as his index and middle finger had pressed lightly to your forehead.

And you opened your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT THE FRICK


	24. A Very Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...what actually just happened?  
>  READ ON TO FIND OUT THAT'S WHAT!!

You woke to feel the tight grip of two hands shaking your shoulders and the deep worried voice of a slightly familiar voice. Your eyes snapped open and you realised you had been sleeping...in the backseat of a car.

It was still dark, but you could make out the figure who was speaking to you, who had shaken you awake. None other than Dean Winchester. The hunter who'd you'd scared into thinking you were Homeland Security, and made pies for, and watched go to hell and -

No. They never happened, you realised.

You glanced to the date on Dean's watch and cussed internally. The day after the awkward date-like experience in the bar Vixen.

"______, tell me what's wrong, come on," Dean spoke to you softly, "Bad dream?"

You turned to face the elder brother of the Winchesters and in the reflection of those perfect green eyes you saw yourself like in a mirror - (h/c) hair wild and (e/c) eyes wide.

"What gave it away, then, Winchester?" you whispered, and wincing, turned your face toward the hotel room where, by the sound of it, Sam and whoever he'd brought back were still at 'studying'.

Dean exhaled. "I don't know, maybe it was the screaming?" You nodded, and a flashback hit you harder than a truck on the freeway going so fast it was on the highway to hell.

Headaches, pounding, roaring, harsh ear splitting pain inside the cranium. Visions. Angels; dicks, the lot of them. A guy named Castiel, sometimes not like the other angels. Pregnant...someone had been. You. You and Dean.

"Yeah?" you echoed.

"You also yelled out my name a bit." he exhaled, sort of like a chuckle. "First time that's happened not in sex."

You rolled your eyes. "Huh," you sighed. "Classy." And shrugged off his hands from your shoulders.

"You okay, though?" Dean asked you.

You nodded.

He chuckled, "No. You're not. You look like hell."

He went to hell.

You have a sarcastic smile. "I've had better days." You glanced up, looking at the interior of Dean's car. Almost pristine. "If you're so keen on hearing about what my dream was, it was literally the worst." You turned to face Dean, ignoring the sounds of 'studying' from the hotel room. "I stuck around you guys, and got abducted by demons and made you pie and -,"

Dean frowned, and you could tell he was unsure why you had stopped telling him. "C'mon, ______, you can tell me. It was just a dream."

You nodded faintly, struggling to believe what had just happened was only a dream. "You and I fell for each other, and then you died and came back and the Sam was possessed and - I got pregnant -,"

"Damn," He commented, sighing. "One dramatic dream or what?."

You shrugged. "And then Sam sort of died and you got distant and..." You didn't look at Dean. "It felt so real."

A laugh brought you back. "Yeah, well, things happen."

You smiled, glad someone had woken you up from that sad, weird and frankly messed up dream.

"That's why I like you, Dean," you smiled, relaxing back into him.

"Yeah?" He echoed.

"You don't judge unless something really bad is going on." You heard humming of the song he'd sung earlier for you - Blue Oyster Cult. "I know I'm a hunter, Dean," you whispered, "but could you fight away the bad dreams for the rest of the night for me?"

You heard his smile. "I'd love to." There was a pause, and he added questioningly, "hey, ______, what kind of pie did you make for me in the dream?"

You whispered back, "Pumpkin, mostly. Why?"

You heard a quick laugh. "You're my type of girl, you know that, ______?"

You opened your eyes to take in the fading night and the interior of the Impala and the general moment and a smile touched your lips. You were safe, now. With Dean.

But before you closed your eyes, you saw a figure at the end of the car park, just standing there. Watching you. Scraggly brown facial hair, a small tumble of head curls cresting the forehead. Wary, sad brown eyes, observing.

It was the man who had woken you up in your dream.

Earlier on, you'd called him something that wasn't much like any other name.

He was God.


	25. The Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame 16 year old Susie for this. Not me.

Years later...

You looked down the barrel of the gun, aiming at the target at the end of the range. Taking a few short breaths, you felt your fingers lightly tug on the trigger, and the recoil bounce the gun as the shot fired.

"That's my girl," you heard your boyfriend cry out with a laugh. "Right on target."

You chuckled, turning to see Dean Winchester as you slung the rifle over your shoulder like a soldier in one of the wars in the 20th century.

A smile spread on your face like melted butter over popcorn and a laugh bubbles from your throat. You'd been with the Winchesters hunting and helping with cases ever since the vampire nest a few years ago, with Dean and you becoming quite close.

Though the world had almost ended with the ushering of the angels, you'd managed since then to keep out of the major issues to do with 'divine fate' and such and left all the angels and demons to the badass brothers.

"You're not too bad a shot yourself," you grinned back, taunting. You knew how good a shot Dean was, you'd seen him in plenty of action. You walked by your boyfriend, and handed him the semi automatic. "Go on, prove yourself."

Dean winked at you, taking the gun. "I think I just might," he grinned.

Taking a seat where Dean had been seconds ago - his aroma lingering in the air - you watched as the eldest Winchester rose the gun to his line of sight and shot within seconds. You jerked at the sound of the shot - you still after all these years on hunts was still not used to gunshots - and punched the air for your boyfriend.

"Not bad!" you smiled, and watched as Dean turned to frown at you, giving you the toughest puppy dog face you'd ever seen, green eyes and all.

"Not bad?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "That's what you said last night."

You poked your tongue out. "Not to you." You watched as his face recoiled from the comeback, and then added, "Boom."

"Burned," he winced, coming back to you. You felt a smile touch at the edge of your lips, and then as the two of you neared, his on top of yours.

It was moments like these when Dean would come and visit which made your days - months - feel absolutely at the pinnacle of happiness. You'd been with him since forever, or that vampire nest you, he and Sam had cleared out, and since had been his go to girl, his girlfriend.

You'd rarely hunt with him, since the apocalypse had been started, mainly because a) angels and demons together weren't your crowd and b) you liked being the soloist like Bobby Singer.

So the times you had together were between hunts and missions and death defying occasions and you savored. You savored the stolen kisses and the bright green eyes you woke up beside in the mornings. It wasn't often it came, so it was absolutely amazing when it did.

"You okay?" you heard Dean ask as he parted from he kiss, and you nodded. Nothing was bothering you, not with Dean back.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Not a thing wrong."

Dean grinned. "Good. I like it that way," he brushes the hair from your face.

"Same here," you whispered, and kissed his temple.


	26. In A Loitering Sort of Love

You liked it a more than a lot when Dean came back from saving the world; the glances up the hallway with morning hair, snuggling in bed until past two in the afternoon. It was a loitering sort of love, with silences accepted and the slowness integral.

Some days were filled with the floury kisses on the back of the neck while cooking baked goods, and others included the lazy sort of life with messy clothes and bed hair and interrupting angels popping in.

Like today.

You had just come down the stairs from gathering the laundry hamper, overhearing the theme song for Dean's most favourite guilty pleasure TV show - even though he'd never admit it - Dr Sexy, M. D.

You hummed under your breath, but the tune was caught in your throat as you skidded down the stairs into a heap with a scream.

"Castiel!" you screeched. "Less pop! and more knocking!" you breathed heavily, trying to pick yourself off the bottom step of the stairs.

A thunder of footsteps neared, and you looked up to see Dean and his face full of concern. As he saw the Angel of The Lord he rolled his eyes.

"What is it now, Cas? I'm on my free time at the moment." Dean groaned, coming to you to help pick you off the floor. You whispered a thank you as you were back on your feet. "Not another mission. I'm sick of doing heaven's work."

Cas just stared at the pair of you, but after a second, he turned to Dean and spoke, "I need your partner out of the room. I need to talk with you."

You crossed your arms with a huff. "I'm a hunter too," you protested. "What case has the divine Mr Upstairs vetoed me from knowledge of?"

Castiel frowned. "It is nothing of your concern, ______, I need to speak with Dean. Alone."

You shrugged. "Fine." And turning to Dean, kissing him on the cheek, "I'm going for a walk and won't be back for a few hours. Is that enough time?"

The angel nodded. "It should be."

 

 

You checked your watch hours later and found yourself on the other side of town when the conversation between Angel and Dean should have been over. It was silly how they didn't trust you in hearing about things; you were tough.

They knew that.

The only reason you were a sort of hunting consultant at the moment was to get a feel back into everyday life. Feel at least a little bit more natural for once. No vamp blood on my hands, no wendigo buried somewhere, no werewolf slaughter and no burning of skeletons. Defiantly no ghosts.

By the time you made it back home the heat had gotten to you, sticking your shorts and the hair to the back of your neck, so you waited on the porch of your house.

And my mistake, you overheard the last of the conversation.

"She's not going to say anything on the subject, not even a little bit. No. She's not having in. I'm not having in. Hell, I'd rather quit hunting than do that, Cas!"

You didn't want to hear the fight but did at the same time. So you just knocked on the front door then, let yourself in and excused yourself through the arguing men for the bathroom down the hall.

When were still in the shower, you heard the door open, and close.

"Dean?" you called out.

When there was no reply, you slipped your hand behind the loose tile and grabbed a demon blade. The shower door opened and you raised the knife -

"Shit, _______!" Yelled Dean. "Who keeps a knife in the shower?"

"Who doesn't keep a knife in the shower? God, Dean, don't sneak up on me!" you cried, dropping the blade. "I'm like, ninety eight percent of the time alone, I need a line of defense!"

He nodded. "Sorry for sneaking up on you..."

You took a deep breath, and plucked the knife back up and into the secret place it had come. "I know where that's going," you replied, picking up the conditioner. "And nope, no shower time today. Talk to me from the toilet."

There was a groan and the sound of Dean sitting on the lid of the facility. Then, "I bet you're wanting to know what Cas was talking about."

You shrugged from under the water, rinsing out some of the hair product. "It sounded really bad, from what I heard you saying when I got back." You sighed, turning the water off. "You used to never refuse a hunt."

You turned to Dean who held out the second towel for your hair, and in payment, kissed his cheek.

"No, well, I'm usually into hunts where the man upstairs doesn't want my girlfriend over for a serious talk. So no. I'm not going to play fair this time."

You paused midway with drying your hair. "Wait. Man upstairs, as in Him? He? God?" You saw Dean nod. "He wanted me - to talk to him - but you couldn't find him, when you got to heaven, and he wasn't on earth anyplace you guys could see."

"Yep," Dean sighed. "That's why I think something's up."

Towels secure over your body you advanced to Dean's side with a smile. "I don't mind if we sit this one out." You kissed the elder Winchester on the lips, and when you broke apart, murmured, "and I'm sorry Castiel came in on Dr Sexy. I'll look into the box set if you like."

You heard his smile. "You know me better than me, ______."

You pecked his lips. "Pie. I'll get pie too."

Dean moaned with a laugh. "Literally. The best."

"I try," You shrugged.


	27. Grocery Shopping Is Not A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader takes grocery shopping quite seriously now they're settled with Dean happily in their happy happy life as happy as it could be thank you very much. She does not think highly of higher powers coming in to intervene.

A couple of days later you decided it was completely frugal to go and get some supplies from the supermarket. Dean's presence at home meant more than just loving hugs and regular activities; it meant shopping. For two.

So browsing through the el cheapo shelves, picking out enough food to go another week, two at most, you turned off. Relaxed. For the first time in a while without Dean's help.   
But as you neared the checkout, stacking the items onto the conveyor belt, you heard someone call out your name. 

Ever so slightly, under the breath. Hiding something, playing around with you. 

Everyone in this town knew you by a nickname. Not ______. 

You shivered and at last your groceries were being scanned in by the checkout boy. You frowned, seeing he didn't have a name badge as were everyone else. His brown hair was untamed, a beard - stubble here and there - was starting to grow, and with the deep brown baby eyes, it seemed he looked into your soul.   
"Hello ______," the checkout boy smiled. "It is ______ _______, right?"

You froze, and the whiplash of déjà vu burned your mind. 

Baking pies, abducted by demons, Dean went to hell, pregnancy, Sam went into a cage and then Dean was depressed - 

That did happen; you remembered. You'd been there and watched half of it come true. Alive and awake you'd been to see Sam fall in the cage with the other brother, Adam.   
But what flashed before, before your eyes: that had been a dream. 

A long time ago. 

You shuddered. "Dear God," you breathed. 

"That's me," he smiled awkwardly. "I've been wanting to see you, _______."

"Piss off?" You started shaking. "No, no, you're not Him. He's the kinda person who ignores his problems until they start causing apocalyptic symptoms."

He continued to scan the items in. "About that..."

"You're not Mr Upstairs, because where were you? I used to think if I'd been a good kid, you'd bring back my family. I saw what happened to them - I was there. I thought you would make it bearable, the pain; that it'd be all nice and well picturesque."

"I can't just bring back people-"

You smiled. "I am in love with Dean Winchester, dude. He's living proof that you can 'just being back people'." The silence was monotonously not silent because of the beeping scanner. "And why would you want to speak to me now? Of all times in my life. It's just started to get good again."

He, God, smiled. Kindly. Like He was supposed to. "I know," he whispered, trying not to be heard by the next customer, "but its important."

You shook your head. "Like what Dean told Castiel," you fished in your wallet for the right amount of money to pay exactly, not wanting to waste any more time on God than needed, "I don't want in."

You quickly loaded the bags into the trolley, and pushed toward the Impala Dean had let you borrow. 

And as you turned back, to see God, you frowned. A different guy stood in the place where He had been. 

"What is it with non human beings and the wish to play games?" you muttered under your breath, loading the shopping into the backseat.


	28. Familial Ties and The Unbreakable Love of Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TIME FOR FEELS AND WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR  
> unless what you have been waiting for is feels  
> then carry on, friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love these author's notes I'm writing

"What took you so long?" you heard Dean yell from the kitchen when you burst through the door with all the bags of shopping in both hands.

"Ran into Him," you gritted out, regretting not doing two trips.

A scuffle of feet into the room and a chaste kiss on the kips later, Dean took a hold of a bunch of bags.

"Him?" he repeated. "Ex-boyfriend kind of him? I have more than a shotgun in the trunk if he's trouble, y'know."

You shook your head, leading into the kitchen. "No. Divine Him. Man Upstairs. Creator of universe. God."

Dean stopped. "What did He look like?"

You paused, giving him a side glance as you began to restock the pantry. "Really?" you laughed. "I get ambushed by God Himself and you want his appearance?"

There was silence from his side. But nonetheless you described what the guy who was waiting for you looked like. You slipped past the part of your griping - nobody likes a whiner, no matter the tragedy - but accidentally managed to keep a bump in the tale, a loophole.

"Your family," Dean said, cracking the lid of a beer from the fridge. "You skipped that bit. I haven't heard much about them."

You looked to the roof, trying to contain the emotions about the cut strings of the familial ties you had seen severed.

"They're dead. All of them."

You went to slip past Dean into the lounge room to desensitise yourself to the world of soap operas and faux death much like what happened in real life sans the incredulity, but your hand was caught in Dean's.

"You can talk about it, you know. I'm here."

You smiled, and looked away. "It's not a big deal, really. Just more dead people. Everyone has dead people they miss, you of all people should know, Dean."

His mother Mary. His father John. Ellen. Jo. Ash. All the people they couldn't save in time.

"I know," he whispered, pulling your hand back to hold it to his chest. "I know the goddam pain. I know how it kills you." With the hand that held the beer, you felt him gather you to rest your face onto his chest, and that was when you broke.

It had only taken a lifetime.

"Rugaru," you whispered, feeling the tears come on like a weather forecaster before the storm. "A goddamned Rugaru. He used to be a family friend, and we were at a barbecue, and it was fine until someone - I can't remember, a cousin? Well, he tripped and split his leg. And the Rugaru transformed...and killed everyone."

Tears.

All over Dean's V-neck. Proof you weren't as hardcore a hunter as you'd thought.

"It's okay," he hummed, but you continued to sob.

"He just began to eat, and I watched from the patio. Just watched as my family screamed for mercy, the pavers turning red in seconds." You began to breathe fast then; too fast. "Someone said it had been my time to light the barbecue that day, and I was only nine - the Rugaru was almost onto me, and I had a lighter and -," you stopped to breathe, feeling Dean's hand on your hair. Smoothing it. His voice, cooing to you. "You know how like in the comics or movies, when things explode? How the hero makes gas turn into flames?"

Dean nodded, you could tell.

"The Rugaru had shredded the barbecue and the gas bottle, open and leaking. I could smell it...and like I'd learned, I flicked the Bic to fire and..."

Dean's hand didn't stop stroking your (h/l) (h/c) hair. "And you managed to miraculously survive the horrific event by a stroke of luck," he whispered. It was then you realised his voice had broken with tears.

You were both hot messes.

"They said it was a gas leak and it was but they'd never seen -," you shuddered. "God is real, Dean. I talked to him today. And he made what happened happen. He got me into this godforsaken business."

"But he also got you to me," Dean breathed into your (h/c) hair. "You remember that nest of fangs?"

You nodded. "And sleeping in the Impala."

"You're the best person that I've ever met," he stroked your hair, and added, "I'd be dead without you."

"I love you Dean Winchester," you hiccuped into his chest, "you're all the family I need."

"I love you too, ______ ______."

You heard floorboards creaking in the next room and sharply withdrew from Dean's front. You weren't expecting Sam or anyone. And Castiel always conveniently appeared two inches from yours and Dean's faces.

Slipping your hand behind the cans section of the pantry, you took two angel blades, tossing one to your boyfriend the hunter.

"Don't stab, don't stab!" a voice you recognised cried. And in unison, you both yelled,

"Chuck?"

"God!"


	29. Revelations of Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay God should not just burst into your house like that, he has a beard, he looks reasonably human, he should knock and wait by the other side of the door like everyone else. Also, why is he here on chapter 29 of 30?

The silence that followed almost killed you, it was so slow and spongey, like living in jelly, yet it was potently sharp and ominous and daring you to take a breath and question what had come to pass. To question the man who had broken into yours and Dean's house who had two alias's, apparently.

Coming back from the shock, your head turned to Dean faster than your pulse that had risen suddenly and you almost screamed, you were so confused. You just needed answers.

Honest to God answers.

"Chuck? As in the prophet, that guy who wrote those books about you guys?"

"That guy, yeah," Dean confirmed.

You froze, a realisation washing over you very quickly,"Chuck Shurley wasn't real, was he?" You interrogated the cowering curly haired man in the lounge room. "Chuck, he wasn't a real person, because you're God - you're Him! I know this, I talked to you!" you accused him, the rage coming to you like the ocean slamming against a cliff side. "And -,"

"Chuck wasn't real?" Dean frowned, lowering the angel blade. "You're -,"

"Chuck is a real person, Dean, ______," the curly haired man raised his palms in a non threatening way away from himself. "I'm sort of...I'm using him as a vessel. He's me. I made him. He's a real person."

Dean snorted. "And it was you all the time? Like, since Sam and I met you? God?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Joshua was right, you were on Earth." He nodded. "This weird crap is starting to make sense for a change."

"Can we not do the soul-searchy wishful thinking moments just yet, Dean?" You snapped, "God has broken into our house, and he wanted to speak to us, like Cas said." You turned to God. "I thought I made myself clear, Dean and I, we don't want to speak to you. About anything."

God looked down, and you could tell he felt a bit ashamed for B&E. "It is written in your fate, ______; Dean: you're not supposed to be together. Horrible things'll happen -,"

Dean laughed. "Horrible things already happen, we're hunters. It's more than an occupational hazard."

You didn't move.

Not supposed to be together. Horrible things. Fate. Not supposed to be -

"_______? Babe, are you alright?"

You suddenly felt faint - something that never happened, never. Unless there was deathly amount of blood loss, you never got light headed.

You shook your head vigorously but immediately regretted it: suddenly your vision was blurry and slowly, you walked to the kitchen table, and sat down heavily, head between knees.

Breathe, ______, you told yourself. Just breathe.

No, no, no.

It was coming back to you, slowly washing over you like sinking into and under a running bath.

That god-awful dream, that terrible nightmare that had you and Dean and Sam had been in so much pain and no, no, no, no, you shouldn't be remembering a dream in such detail! It had been in your head, pictures in your brain -

"What have you done to her?" you heard Dean growl to God.

"She's remembering."

Then the facts hit you:

Your name was ______ ______. Your family died by a Rugaru, then came back as ghost possession and tried to kill you after, they were so pissed off at their death and you for not saving them. You were practically raised by Bobby Singer and learned all about hunting from him and Ellen and Jo. You met Dean Winchester and his brother in a diner, and worked with them for the first time to kill off a covey of vamps. Then you'd gone back to Bobby's place, alone - 

\- no you didn't you didn't. You went on to work with them -

and then bored beyond recognition after hours of research for no cause but memory you baked pies and snuck onto a hunt at midnight and got hospitalised after the demons cut you up pretty bad

\- where was this coming from, you shouldn't remember dreams like this, you'd never been to a goddamned hospital in your life as a hunter, ever -

and then you fell completely and hopelessly in love and then left Dean before he was to be dragged to hell but you came back and watched the light fade from his eyes and you developed the prophetic headaches and started seeing glimpses of the future and you went to Sam for help because it was killing you softly, Dean being dead but he wasn't and Dean came back and you

\- oh God oh God oh God oh God make it stop make it stop make it stop! -

Fast forward and his little brother Sam fell in the cage, pulling down Adam, the other one...and the there was the pregnancy test

\- what? This keeps getting crazier! -

and God, the man upstairs, that guy you got the first dream of, the guy in your living room, he woke you up. From all of it. It wasn't a dream, ______. It wasn't a dream.

 

"It was real, the whole damn thing, all of it happened, it did," you gasped, the world still spinning in your head. "It all happened."

"What happened?" Dean growled.

"That wasn't a dream," God explained.

"I know, now," you retorted with the sass you'd picked up from Bobby, "Holy shit," you breathed, feeling the urge to puke come into you.

"The nightmare that ______ had, after your first hunt, was what really happened."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what if I love drama


	30. Finite Finale?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE END HAS COME THE END HAS COME
> 
> Also, someone has to tell God to piss off every once in a while.

"What do you mean, real?" you snapped from the chair you were still in, nauseated, "Real as in I lived it all and you did the zappy thing where I go back in time and you pretend it never happened and lie to me?"

God didn't move. Dean was looking to his feet as if they were the most interesting thing to have been made besides you. And you, slowly, shaking, moved from your perch to stand up to God.

If he said it was, that is was real, that dream, then the last years you had been with Dean for would be more than untrue, but complete lies - that dream, if confirmed to be real, was horrible. Borderline psychotic; who in their right mind would want to put someone literally through hell?

If it wasn't real, well...nothing.

"Yes," God affirmed.

"Yes?" you repeated. "Yes that you erased most of Dean's and my lives?"

God looked down. Dean's apple eyes met yours, and you melted almost immodestly, immediately.

"It's okay, ______," he whispered, "I don't remember any of it."

You shook your head. "That's even worse, Dean, its like amnesia after a really good day or something - this is not okay!"

"You two are not fated to be together," God managed to say, "its not supposed to be."

You looked to God, and almost bared your teeth, you were so angry at the being. But Dean's hands around your midsection did twofold a job; pulling you back from pouncing onto a god with infinite power and calming you at once.

"Not supposed - we are in love!"

"Shhhh," Dean murmured into your (h/c) hair, slowly and soothingly. "Don't fret," he said, and you noticed the words to be almost the same to the night in the car you shared with him. "Just breathe."

"Breathing, Dean, is an art I mastered since birth," you whispered back in a calmly harsh tone, your eyes closed to attempt to make you not as angry.

"Yeah, but you haven't had me since birth," Dean laughed into your hair and the tension about the being before both of you dissipated. "There we are, all chilled out. Now we can face this rationally."

You opened your (e/c) eyes and saw God in Chuck's body, and took a deep breath.

"Now, God," Dean began cockily, "______ and I don't appreciate being used as a blackboard, erased and rewritten and it has come to our best interests to tell you to -,"

"Politest," you interrupted. "Tell you in the politest way to. He's God, He can do anything if he wants to."

Dean snorted. "-our best interests to tell you in the politest way to leave us be."

You nodded. "I don't care if you've fated it to be," you added, "I love Dean more than I love anything in the world, heck, even more than my own self at times! And I won't be dropping his ass anytime soon."

Dean chuckled, and to that, put in, "and the tip-off about the nightmare? Only made us want each other even more."

At that, you felt a hand touch your but, and saw the introverted exterior of the God himself cringe.

"Alright then, I get the message," He cried. "I'm off."

And he was.

You turned to Dean and took in his entire image. The dark blonde hair, ruffled up. Large green eyes able to break hearts and homes. Strong jawline, shoulders as broad as his love and capability for you. And you, taking a deep breath, threw yourself at him.

"We're alone now," you whispered, and you felt a smile come across his face.

"Ah, it feels so good to not have a supreme being telling us to split up hanging around any more," he sighed dramatically as if taking lines straight from a soap. "Lets not break up, _______. Ever."

You laughed. "That means marriage, basically, Dean," you giggled.

His face held not a hint of jesting when he said, "That was what I was getting at, ______," his green eyes read yours. "Lets just stay together. Always. No matter what."

"I like the sound of that," you whispered.

You didn't mind bikers. Or Kombi van driving hippies. Or backpackers hitchhiking their way over the states.

None of those travellers gave you a second glance, neither did you. But what did bother you was the stereotypical handsome hotshots, the boys who were too gorgeous to hold down a woman for more than one night and had insanely good looks. The guys too old to be living in their parent's houses, too young to have started a family of their own by now. The kind who were just like Dean had been, and with you, had become unlike that. He was more than just another pretty face on the road - he was your pretty face on the road.

These hotshots - specifically Dean - gave you a cause to make you laugh, love them more than anything you could think about. They made you attempt to go up against God himself to protect what you had come to call your own, your love.

"I love you so much, Dean," you laughed into his jacket.

"And I you, ______," he grinned. "And I you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next in the series, Cheer Up! 16 year old Susie did NOT write that.

**Author's Note:**

> Was it as bad as I said it was? Feedback is much appreciated for constructive criticism purposes.
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
